


Timent Magicae

by Melpomene49



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: BAMF Stiles, Circus, F/M, Hurt Stiles, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Mystery, Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Stiles dissapeared
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-06
Updated: 2018-06-05
Packaged: 2019-03-27 23:39:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 29,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13891566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melpomene49/pseuds/Melpomene49
Summary: The pack has lost hope of finding Stiles, gone missing without a trace two years ago. However, in a trip to San Francisco to the world's most famous circus things change when they find their friend where they least expected. As they try to figure out what happened, the pack realizes there might be something wrong keeping Stiles inside that circus. A circus that hides more than performers capable of doing the impossible.





	1. Chapter 1

Scott hadn’t seen Stiles in more than two years. After the Nogitsune had left his best friend’s body and killed Allison, everyone in the pack had needed some time and space to mourn and process the events.

Apparently, during that time, something had been going on with Stiles. Within a few weeks, he had appeared on his front door explaining to him how he needed to go to Sacramento for a weekend to get answers. When Scott had asked to _what_ questions, a playful smile had appeared on Stiles’ face.

“You’ll see” he’d said. Without further explanation, he had promised to return with a whole bunch of information, from which the entire pack would profit.

“And a surprise” he’d added before getting on his jeep and driving off.

If Scott had only known. That was the last time he saw his best friend.

But after the weekend had been over and no word of Stiles’ surprise, Scott had called Noah and asked for Stiles’ whereabouts. The sheriff had had no idea where his son was.

Two more days gone by, without any news, Noah had reported his son missing at the station and the search had started. The pack had tried their best, travelling to Sacramento, photograph in hand, and asking for days if anyone had seen their friend. Meanwhile the police had also done their job, stations all around the state seeking Stiles, hanging “ _missing”_ posters and calling everyone Stiles had had contact with in the last few months.

However, there were no lingers, no hints, no leads. Neither the police, nor the pack had any idea of where Stiles was.

The only useful thing Noah remembered was Stiles talking about a new friend, someone he had been hanging out with shortly before his vanishing. After an extensive research, they had found said friend, but she was nothing more than a bookshop owner that remembered Stiles as nothing more than a customer. Still no idea.

By the time the third month had gone by, hope of finding him had started to crumble. Noah had reached out for his bottle again, Lydia and Kira’s eyes were rarely dry and even the entire school fell silent when Stiles was mentioned.

It had been all over Beacon Hills, in everyone’s mouth. Sheriff’s son missing. But, aside from glares loaded with pity and few consoling words, no one had done anything to help.

After six months, even Derek had started doubting. During the last months, he had been reaching out to old contacts all over the supernatural networks. Packs as well as hunters had been contacted by him. But the search hadn’t been fruitful.

Then, if Stiles’ disappearance had nothing to do with the pack, nothing to go with hunters, vengeful alphas and rival packs, why the hell would he have disappeared? Who would have taken him? Why?

It just didn’t make sense.

Scott had been the last one to stop being absolutely certain they would find Stiles. Almost 18 months since that stupid weekend, Scott had found himself in his best friend’s room, looking at old photos and, suddenly, he had been confronted with the fact that it had been more than a year since he had heard anything from Stiles.

Then, it had dawned on him. There was a chance he would never see Stiles again.

It had hurt. A lot. The one person that had always stood by his side, always understood him. He was gone. And Scott could do nothing to help him.

He had wished for him to be there. So deeply. He had wished for his friend to help him integrate Malia into the pack, find the Benefactor, beat Kate, kick Peter’s butt. But Stiles hadn’t been there.

Two more years had passed. Once again, Scott had been confronted with a deadly threat without his best friend. For one moment, he had hoped his long-lost friend, Theo, would be able to dull the sharp sting he felt in his heart every time the thought of the hyperactive boy crossed his mind. But the feeling of thereby betraying Stiles had lingered around him and hindered him to let Theo too deep in.

And only to Scott’s benefit because Theo had turned out to be a sociopath. Even being missing, Stiles had still taken care of him, saved him.

Now, two years and four moths had gone by. Twenty-four months since Stiles had disappeared. Time had made nothing more of him than a memory. A warm, comforting memory with a sour after-taste.

Noah had stopped drinking and focused entirely on his job. Lydia had hung a photograph over her desk to commemorate him. Derek had stopped looking.

And Scott…

Scott had finally managed to smile without his friend being there.

That’s why, on a particular road trip to San Francisco to the world’s most famous circus, Scott’s heart stopped beating and all the air was knocked out of his lungs when he spotted a familiar figure entering a blue and white striped tent.

A familiar figure that could only be Stiles.


	2. Magic

Said Circus had fame like no other. There were interviews in Late Night Shows, documentaries and even research papers about it. What made it so special was the fact that _no one_ , absolutely _no one_ , had yet managed to decipher it.

Not one single video had been posted on YouTube revealing the truth, not one single person had come forward and explained how they did it. For everyone outside of the circus it seemed like the shows, acts and artists made the impossible possible.

Videos of a girl dancing with fire and ice by her side, animals transforming into other animals in a matter of seconds, flying objects as well as people, and so much more. What fascinated everyone was how these acts seemed to defy every single law of physics there was. Being almost impossible to believe if you hadn´t seen it with your own eyes.

The circus had toured through Europe, performed for the Queen of England, been invited to exclusive political meetings. The acts seemed to put even Houdini to shame.

 ** _Timent Magicae_**. Fear the magic. That´s how the circus was called.

Hearing of so many impossible deeds and inhuman abilities, Scott had decided to visit _Timent Magicae_ with the pack. They told themselves it was to “find out about any supernatural happenings” to not feel like little children, but in truth, they all were just hoping for a fun evening and an exciting night.

They definitely hadn’t expected what was to come.

As soon as they paid for their tickets and got into the network of dirt passages that surrounded an enormous yellow and black striped tent, they’d been impressed by the size, lividness and beauty of the place.

Stands were set up, facing each other on either end of the passages where people sold hot-dogs, drinks, caramelized apples and every sort of food. However, there were also stands consisting of arcade games with little boys and girls trying hard to gain one of the toys hanging on the inner walls of the small cabinets. Closed tents were among the bunch, costumed people walking in and out of them.

A chain of colourful lightbulbs hung over their heads, zig-zagging from the roof of one stand to the next one. People were joking and fooling around as far as the eye could reach. Everything Scott had heard about this place was being confirmed. Vastly.

Liam, Mason and Hayden had taken off almost the second they had gotten through the entrance and disappeared in the crowd. The rest of them -Scott, Malia, Lydia and Derek- had wandered through the corridors and eyed a few stands.

One had caught Lydia’s attention. A brunette girl that said she could read minds. Being highly scientifically minded, Lydia had immediately accused that to be impossible. The girl had smiled behind her counter and pulled out a deck of cards from a shelf behind her.

More than twenty minutes had gone by since Lydia had picked up a card and the girl had guessed it correctly the first time. Lydia tried over and over again to find the trick behind it all, asking the girl to perform the same trick one time after another with slight variations.

Lydia was the one to shuffle the cards once. The girl had to close her eyes another time. But the white-dressed girl never got the card wrong.

“Eight of spades” her green-eyes gleaming with joy.

“How do you…?” Lydia asked getting more frustrated every second.

The girl laughed and slowly wrapped a strand of her around her index finger. Scott was pretty sure she was enjoying this. And, honestly, so was he.

“Come on, admit it” Malia teased “You can’t decipher it”

Lydia’s jaw tightened. She looked at her friend and then back at the girl. That was something the pack had rarely seen, Lydia doubting her abilities and considering to admit defeat.

Suddenly, Derek, who had been somewhat disinterested in their game, stepped forward with his arms crossed.

“What number am I thinking of?”

The question hung in the air for a moment. Until then, no one had considered this anything more than a very well-engineered trick that even Lydia couldn´t understand. What Derek was suggesting with that question was that the girl could _actually_ read minds.

She eyed him suspiciously for a moment and stared thoughtfully. Then, like she had suddenly realised they were expecting an answer from her, she snapped her fingers, making out of the gesture little guns with her hands and pointing at Derek.

“Wait a second” she told him with a knowing smirk. She vanished beneath the counter and reappeared in a few seconds with pencil and paper in hand.

“I usually don´t do this” she muttered while writing something on the paper “but you seem like nice people. I’m willing to make an exception for you”

With those words, she turned the paper around and handed it over to Derek.

“There” she said while Derek took the paper “You actually thought of three numbers. Wanted to trick me, huh?”

Scott peeked into the sheet. There were three numbers written on it.

  1. _75\. 2_



He looked at Derek, not really knowing what he was hoping for. But as soon as his eyes spotted Derek’s expression; the tight jaw, blanc eyes and wrinkles on his forehead, he knew the girl had made the circus’ fame justice.

She had done the impossible.

Slowly, Malia’s eyes jumped from the sheet of paper to the girl. The brunette was brushing her hair back with her fingers, exposing a butterfly-tattoo on the inner side of her forearm just under one of the two iron bracelets she wore around each wrist.

When she finished, her arms fell limply on the counter and she glared at them expectantly.

“Well?”

“How did you do it?” asked Derek, trying to fake a laugh while everyone that knew him could see how freaked out he was.

But the girl, a mere stranger, didn´t notice his discomfort.

She pressed her elbows on the counter and rested her chin on the heels of her palms.

Her eyes gleamed for a moment, her eyebrows rose mysteriously.

“Magic”

That should have been their first sign this circus wasn´t as normal as they had initially thought.

-

Half an hour later, they were sitting inside the enormous tent on benches set up like a podium. The following row always being a bit higher than the last one. Derek had offered himself to go and save seats for them after the psychic-girl show and the pack hadn´t argued with him.

The older werewolf hadn´t been in an especially good mood after that, which had made them all too happy to get rid of his grumpy aura. Now, a few minutes before the first half of the show started, they were waiting for Liam, Hayden and Mason to come and join them in the fifth row.

Soon enough, Liam and Hayden walked in through the open curtains. Her holding a bag of popcorn in one hand and Liam’s hand with the other. While she giggled, he seemed to have only eyes for her. Not looking very happy, Mason came strolling behind them. With slumped shoulders and absent eyes, he didn´t seem to be enjoying himself as his friends were.

He was the first one to spot the older members of the pack and walked straight towards them without waiting for Liam and Hayden to follow. First, he climbed up a few steps to get to the proper row. Pushing legs aside and letting insults wash over him, he got to Malia’s side and sat down on the seat next to her. The two lovers got to his side quick enough, but they didn´t bother to look at anyone but each other, utterly ignoring the pack and Mason.

“Not having a great time?” Lydia asked Mason, sitting next to Malia.

“You’d think they’d get tired of it” he replied, eying his friends like they were some sort of weird hybrid creatures “But, apparently, giggling and rubbing noses is _so_ good”

Derek raised his eyebrows. He was the one sitting farthest from Mason. “They _rub_ noses?”

“All the time” he answered “And they do this weird thing where they…”

“I don´t want to know” Derek interrupted and leaned back on his seat, crossing his hands and staring at the empty circular stage in front of them.

Scott, sitting next to him, turned his torso to face Derek and left Lydia and Malia discuss with Mason his third-wheel-frustration.

“Why are you so grumpy?” he asked, letting a little bit of alpha authority slide into his tone.

Derek didn´t bother look at him “Did you know Stiles always wanted to visit a circus?”

It took Scott by surprise. Every time Stiles’ names fell on the table, it felt like thousand knives were stabbing him all over his body. But he got Derek. He had had that thought too; What would this trip be like if Stiles were here?

But the answer was always too hurting when those questions rose in his mind. That´s why Scott had opted to just not look for an answer and do his best to ignore the pain.

“Are you seriously grumpy because of that?” Scott asked instead.

Derek shook his head “No” he admitted “It was…”

But he didn´t get a chance to finish his sentence, for in that second a melodic, mesmerizing piano started to play. At the same time, the heavy curtains of the entrance, that had been held open by sticks, fell close and everything immediately fell dark around them.

The piano got faster and faster, building up tension. All of a sudden, a heavy gong echoed through the now full tent and utter silence reigned over. A beam of light fell on the middle of the stage, illuminating a young adult dressed in a leather jacket and ripped jeans. Alongside his long black hair, his image was nothing Scott had expected out of a circus.

“Welcome!” he said, somehow not needing a microphone to be heard perfectly all over the tent “Ladies and Gentlemen, prepare yourselves to be amazed by the impossible. Things will make you doubt if you’ve lost your mind or entered an alternate reality where things you never thought could happen unfold right before your eyes. Where intuition and logic only serve as confusion and imagination defines our laws. I´m sure you’ve hear of us, but yet, expect to be amazed and leave this tent feeling nothing but bafflement.”

Everyone clapped and the man grinned, extending his arms as if he were inviting someone to hug him, his chest puffed out and his eyes gleaming with arrogance. Lydia tapped Scott’s shoulder.

“What a jerk” she whispered. Scott could only agree, his first impression wasn´t the best.

When the cheers ceased, the man started pacing around the stage.

“I won´t ruin what is to come with revealing words. Instead I´ll introduce our first act tonight. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Sheu-fuh, our ballerina of elements”

Claps filled the room while the presenter walked out of the stage and joined a chubby-looking bald man on the first row. In the following second, two curtains opened to the left of where the pack was sitting and a small, delicate figure walked into the stage.

Her tight, simple dress gleamed neon green in the darkness, combining perfectly with the pink, orange and yellow vines painted on her bare skin, also glaring through the dark. They tangled around her bare feet, intertwined with each other around her legs, crawled up her arms, twisted around her fingers and brushed her cheeks gracefully. Scott had never seen such a perfect, mysterious figure.

She walked to the middle of the stage, her face hidden in colourful shadows, and closed her eyes. Quietly, music started to play in the background. The kind of music that was played on soundtracks and videogames. That instrumental music that Scott knew Stiles would describe as epic.

As the first violins played, she started to dance. Swiftly and full of grace. Every movement from her toes to her fingertips seemed as delicate as a rose. The colours and patterns on her skin making everything even more beautiful.

The music moved on, deeper and darker instruments joining the calm violin. Things got faster, the notes as well as the dancer’s movements. They changed, however slightly. Slowly, the delicateness disappeared and passion and emotion vibed from her. Following her precise movements, her long, back hair swung up and down, back and forth. Only now did Scott notice that her hair was also painted in neon colours as well as her face, her eyelids even her nails.

Tension started to raise increasingly in the music, in her moves, in every single breath. Every set of eyes was bound to her, hypnotized and submerged in the story she was somehow telling through her moves. With her body.

Decisively, she got on pointe and made one pirouette. Two pirouettes. Three. Four.

Suddenly, a stream of fire appeared around her, wrapping around her waist, not touching her by an inch. Its bright red mixing up with her neon green and illuminating her face with the most amazing of orange shades.

The crowd burst out in cheers, amazed by the way the fire seemed to dance with her and follow her moves. It was a whip of flames circling around her legs as she moved to one side, wrapping around her waist as she jumped.

Then, suddenly, she halted her dancing and stretched out one delicate hand. Twisting her torso in a circle, she slowly moved her hand pointing all around the tent. Amazing everyone, the whip of flames got broader, shifted, turned into a living, oriental dragon, flying over the crowd’s heads. Astound gasping and shrieking filled the room.

When the animal flew over Scott’s head, its heat made a droplet of sweat run down his back and he knew. He knew that was real fire. He somehow knew it wasn´t a trick. Once again, the circus had done what they were most famous for.

The impossible.

That should have been their second hint.

-

Scott leaned back on his seat, amazed by everything he had just seem. The ballerina and the dragon had been just the beginning. After she had left the stage and the dragon had magically disappeared, a young man had walked on stage, caring a tiny, brown little bunny and set him down next to him. The lights had come on and after hiding the little animal under a blanket for a second and pulling it away, a tiger, a _real_ _tiger_ , had appeared in its place. The tiger had then turned into a monkey and the monkey into a butterfly.

Then, two trapezists had climbed on the two platforms high above the stage and they had just leaped down. For a moment Scott’s heart had stopped, fearing they were going to die. But then, they both had actually flown up. Changing their dive into a steep rise, they had danced around each other, somehow levitating the entire time. Once they had finished, woman and man, had slowly and gracefully glided back to the ground.

A girl, barely older than twelve years, had then come on stage. In her hands, she had carried a transparent bucket full of chalks and various giant-sized pieces of paper. She hadn´t looked up at the crowd once and had instead only drawn. No one had understood her act at first. It wasn´t until she reached inside the white sheet and pulled out the same rose she had just drawn, that the crowd burst out in cheers again. She had drawn and pulled even more, creating things, making them appear out of nowhere.

By the time the blonde man had walked to the middle of a stage and, while telling a story, simply puffed into nothingness to just reappear a few rows behind the pack, Scott had started doubting the laws of physics. Afterwards, when a couple had started to play with fireworks like they were a baseball, every other thing abandoned Scott’s mind.

A few more acts had been done. A girl playing a flute, thereby making plants grow and their leaves reach out to her. A green-eyed boy, making jokes about people’s lives, telling things he obviously had no way of knowing. It was all so amazing, exciting and hooking, Scott had to hold back a frustrated moan when the presenter announced a half an hour brake before the second halve of the show started.

By the time Scott turned around to look at his pack, Liam and Hayden were already gone.

“They left like twenty minutes ago” Mason told him, noticing his surprised frown.

No one seemed surprised by that. Judging from the way they had looked and touched each other this entire time, it seemed more like a wonder that their clothes hadn’t come off sooner. It was something not really worth thinking much about.

“Something to say, science-lover?” Malia asked Lydia through the loudness of the talking crowd.

Lydia parted her eyes from the stage “I _will_ figure it out”

“Whatever” Malia smiled “We can try and go backstage, see if you can find any clues”

Now, _that_ made Lydia look at her.

“You want to help me prove myself _right_?” she asked suspiciously.

Malia shrugged “I think there’s a toilet backstage”

Scott and Mason laughed. Derek smirked. Lydia shook frustrated her head.

Nonetheless, they both left in the following seconds, bumping into people and fighting their way open with their elbows as they exited the tent.

A few minutes, while the tent cleared out, Scott stared down at the stage. It was amazing. Everything he had seen until now, reaching from the psychic girl to the apple the other girl had pulled out of her painting. The damn expensive tickets had been worth it.

Then, he noticed his stomach was aching and had been for quite a while now. Thinking about it, he couldn´t remember eating in the last hours since he had gotten on Derek’s camaro and they had headed off to San Francisco.

He didn´t think about it much. Scott got up and somehow convinced Derek to join him. Mason was determined to stay put. He said he was tired _“of following pairs around without being noticed”_.

Scott knew he wasn´t talking about Derek and him. So, he decided to let the argument be and got out of the tent, Derek closely by his feet.

-

It was only one second. Nothing more than a silhouette entering a tent, but it was enough for Scott to let the warm hotdog he had been cradling in his hands slide off his hands. His heart stopped beating, his breath stuck in his throat and the whole world around him became a single blur around him.

“Scott?” he heard Derek ask somewhere far away.

“He’s here” he mumbled, already running towards the blue and white striped tent.

Not caring about anything, he pushed people aside, he rammed his elbows in their sides, clearing his path. There was only one single thing in his mind.

Derek followed closely behind, calling his name and cursing. But Scott didn´t stop. Didn´t even care. He didn’t _fucking_ care.

When he burst into the tent, pushing the two curtains aside, he didn’t really think of what he was expecting. There were three wooden tables, one of them filled with food, the other one loaded with closed boxes and the last one empty to their left.

The fire ballerina was there, sitting with her legs facing Scott but with her torso turned to the other side as she talked to a boy, his skin as black as chocolate and his afro bigger than Scott had ever seen. In front of the food was the presenter, his long hair covering his face as he leaned down to pick up a bottle of water.

Standing in front of the table, her back facing the entrance, was the psychic girl. And next to her. Next to her was _he_.

The moment Scott burst in, closely followed by Derek, all heads immediately snapped in their direction. Everyone present staring at him confused and baffled.

Scott was paralyzed for a second, as well as Derek, when his eyes met Stiles’.

Their long-lost friend seemed even more stunned by their appearance. He stared at them wide eyed, his jaw hanging open. Then, for just a second, his eyes left Scott and hushed over to the long-haired boy before returning to Scott and Derek. The other performers immediately noticed the tension and no one spoke a word.

Then, the psychic girl quickly glimpsed at the presenter and then at Stiles.

“Shit” she murmured. And that was all Scott needed to react.

“Stiles” he said, not knowing what he was feeling in that moment “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I… ehm…” Stiles muttered, fidgeting in his spot like Scott had seen so many times. So many _fucking_ times.

The ballerina clapped her hands insecurely “I… _think_ we should leave”

One look at the other three circus artists and only two of them nodded. The psychic and the afro boy quickly rushed out of the tent. When Derek looked at the long-haired boy, the leather jacketed took an apple from the table and started juggling with it.

“I’m not leaving. I haven’t eaten in hours” he snapped “You can talk, I don’t care enough to listen”

Scott wasn´t half as interested in the man’s presence as he was in Stiles’. With enormous steps, he walked over to his friend and let his hands fall on his shoulders.

“Stiles” he repeated, realizing what he was feeling was relief, confusion and anger “Why the hell did you leave us?”

Stiles seemed to be on the edge of breaking. His eyes couldn´t focus on Scott’s, he much rather seemed to be staring at something behind him. But when Scott glanced over his shoulder, there was nothing. Only the presenter’s back who was searching through a bunch of candies.

Frustrated, Scott shook Stiles’ shoulders.

“ _Talk_ to me”

Stiles didn’t say anything for a second, then he swallowed.

“I’m sorry, Scott” he said “I’m sorry about everything”

Scott stepped back carefully. He wanted answers but he was getting nothing more than more questions.

“Stiles, what are you talking about?” asked Derek, standing behind Scott and having a clearer mind. Sort of. “What happened?”

“I…” his heart started beating faster “I was doing this research and then…”

Out of nowhere, Stiles bit on his bottom-lip and pressed his eyes shut for a moment. It seemed like what he was saying hurt him. Physically hurt him.

Stiles took a deep breath “It doesn’t matter” he continued “I’m sorry I hurt you but I needed some space”

Scott stepped back. Hurt. So, it _was_ true. Stiles had left them willingly. That explained why they hadn’t been able to find him. Who would know better how not to be caught by the police than the sheriff’s son? These years, imagining the worst happening to Stiles and he had just… decided to join a circus?

A voice behind his mind knew it didn’t make any sense. He didn’t want to believe it. Something was wrong.

“What is that?” Scott’s thoughts were interrupted by Derek’s serious, now concerned voice “Stiles, what’s that on your left arm?”

Scott’s eyes immediately zapped to said arm and he saw it. Four long white scars along his forearm. And like the psychic girl, he had two iron bracelets around his wrists.

“Where did you get those?” Scott asked, taking Stiles’ arm in his hands, inspecting the scars. If he hadn´t known better, he would have said those were burn marks. But how would Stiles get them?

Apparently, Derek was a lot faster processing the information. He stepped closer towards Stiles. Their heads only millimetres away.

“Is someone keeping you here against your will?” he whispered so quietly Scott could barely hear it.

Stiles’ face went completely blank and for an instant, _just_ an instant, he hesitated. However, the next moment he smiled at them and shook his head, stepping away.

“No, of course not” he said “I… had this… accident. With my jeep. And- and I woke up in the hospital, with no memories. Nothing. Marcus was in the hospital and he offered me a place here, you know, work. And… because I had nowhere else to go, I said yes.”

Derek frowned “But you remember us now”

“The memories… they came back very slowly and… late. I had a life here and I thought it would be best for everyone if I stayed”

“Who’s Marcus?” asked Scott.

“I am” said the presenters deep voice behind them. Scott turned around and looked at the man, inspecting him. Now, he was holding a bottle of orange juice, sipping on it. For some reason, Scott wouldn’t have thought of this man as someone who Stiles would trust. But then again, if he had lost his memories…

“Why didn’t you _call_?” Derek asked. His heartbeat speeding up as he got angrier “When you got your memories back? Didn’t you think we would be worried to death?”

Stiles took a shaking breath “I…” he shook his head “I thought you had gotten over me. That you had accepted that I was gone. Coming back… didn´t seem to make sense”

They looked at each other for a few moments, Scott and Derek internalizing what Stiles had just said. The initial anger Scott had felt at the thought of Stiles being here was starting to subside. If Stiles had truly lost his memories, he couldn’t really blame him for finding a home somewhere else. Maybe, after he had recovered from his amnesia, he had wondered why anyone was looking for him anymore and he had decided to just let things be.

It wasn’t an idea Scott liked. But it was a possibility. One no one could be blamed for the outcome.

“But you will call your dad now, right?” asked Derek, apparently reaching the same conclusion as Scott “He has to know you’re okay, he has to know you’re…”

“No!” Stiles almost yelled when he saw Derek pulling out his phone.

Scott and Derek exchanged looks, frowning. Neither of them understood why Stiles was behaving this way.

“Care to explain?” Derek crossed his arms, but letting his phone slide back into his pocket.

Stiles looked down at his hands “Sorry… I… I think it’s best for him not to know where I am”

“For real?” Scott asked ill-toned.

“I know it’s not easy” Stiles replied “But please, don’t tell anyone you saw me here”

“So, what? You want us to just leave and act like nothing? To ignore the fact that we finally found you? After more than two years?” Derek inquired incredulous.

Suddenly, something metallic hit the floor hard, filling the room with clinging. Scott jumped in his spot and turned around in a second. Marcus was standing next to the wooden table, his eyes staring at the empty bowl and candies spread all over the floor.

“My bad” he said, them simply shrugged “Stiles, we need to get going”

Stiles stared at him, lost in thoughts for a few seconds. Then, he sighed and nodded. “You can go, I’ll catch up”

An amused grin appeared on Marcus’ face “Don’t worry, I´ll wait in front of the tent”

With those words, he left, letting the candies on the floor. Stiles carefully stared after him and once he was out of sight, his eyes travelled back to Scott.

“I’m sorry, Scott, I really am” he breathed out “but you’ll have to go without me”

Scott didn´t say anything for a second, he just stared at his friend. And he noticed. He noticed how Stiles seemed more relaxed now that Marcus had left the tent. His shoulders weren’t as straight and his spine was now curved. Somehow, he knew they weren’t getting the entire story.

“Just don’t tell anyone your…” there it was again. He stopped in the middle of his speech and bit on his bottom lip, pressing his eyes shut.

Recovering his posture, he took a deep breath “…don’t tell anyone, especially my dad, you saw me here” his eyes suddenly turned dead serious “Believe me, it’s for everyone’s best”

Slowly, he started to walk towards the tent’s exit. Just before he slumped out, he glanced back and smiled “It was great seeing you again”

And he was gone. Scott stared after him, having forgotten how to move. For years he had dreamed of the moment he would find Stiles and he would come back with them. But this wasn’t what he had pictured. Stiles, not wanting to go back and asking them to act like they hadn’t found him.

Derek was going through a similar process. Because, even though no single soul knew about it, he and Stiles had shared a secret before he had disappeared. He couldn’t believe Stiles would throw it away as easily as that.

This encounter had been one of the worst things that could have happened that night.

If they hadn´t been submerged so deep in their thoughts, they would have heard Stiles hiss in pain a few seconds after he got out. Soon after, they would have heard Marcus’ voice.

“The boss will want to talk to you”

-

After the show had ended, after everyone had left the circus and after all the people who worked there had started to get into their trailers, that was when Marcus appeared next to Stiles and asked him to come with him.

All the way, starting from cheap and simple living trailers, where he and his friends lived on the most eastern part of their camp, to the fancier tents were the minions lived, Stiles’ palms were sweating and his heart speeding up.

When they were standing in front of his tent, Marcus smiled and pointed with his head toward the entrance. “He’s waiting for you”

Stiles swallowed hard. He knew this wasn’t going to be good.

His eyes needed a moment to focus as he stepped into the darkness inside the tent. He could make out the desk with a lamp, papers, folders and a few pens placed over it utterly organized. An empty wooden chair stood before it, with a high lean and armrests. On the other side was the boss’ leather chair, clearly enormously more comfortable than the wooden one.

Surrounding the desk were three cupboards. Their doors were closed but Stiles knew what was hidden behind some of them. The scar on his left thigh confirmed it.

Finally, standing between the cupboard and the desk and not facing him, was the Dollmaker, the owner and boss of the entire circus.

“Sit” he said, without turning around. Stiles didn´t hesitate and did as he was told, sitting on the empty chair. He could feel his heart in his throat as he waited for the Dollmaker to say something.

The chubby, bold man was wearing a black suit, like he almost always did. In the eyes of a stranger he seemed to be nothing more than a 60-year-old businessman, but only few knew his true self. Most of them forced to remain quiet.

His white-gloved hands were resting behind his back as he spoke “I had really hoped we wouldn’t have to go through with this”

Stiles swallowed hard and didn’t speak a word.

“I had started to believe you finally understood how things worked around here” he said, slowly turning around. He leaned toward Stiles, his hands resting on the table “Apparently, I was wrong”

“I had no idea they were going to come” Stiles quickly defended himself “I swear I didn´t contact them nor tell…”

The Dollmaker laughed “Believe me, if I had even the _slightest_ doubt of you doing anything, I would have already acted”

Stiles didn´t say anything. It wasn’t like he had much to say, either. The man before him wasn’t one to listen to explanations. So, Stiles decided to remain silent and just stared into the Dollmaker’s green eyes.

“I hope you convinced them nothing weird is going on here” he rose his eyebrows expectantly “Because if you gave them any sort of clue, regarding…”

“I didn’t! I…”

Suddenly, the Dollmaker’s fist hit the desk. Stiles jumped in his seat and shut up.

“ _Don’t_ interrupt” the Dollmaker said frighteningly calm. He took in a deep breath and straightened his spine “As I was saying, if you even gave them the slightest of clues, I won’t hesitate and use what’s inside that cupboard”

He pointed towards the one to his left. Stiles tried really hard to remain calm and not show how badly he wanted that cupboard to stay closed. That was the reason he had stayed here for so long, to not get that cupboard open and give the Dollmaker any chance to use what was behind those doors.

The Dollmaker smirked viciously at Stiles “And should I ever see you talking to them again in any sort of way…”

His hand reached inside his pocket. When he pulled it out, there were two small pieces of paper in it, almost the size of a finger. Slowly, he placed them on the table in front of Stiles.

And he recognized it. It was the Dollmaker’s writing. Cursive and swift and made a shiver run down Stiles’ spine.

_Scott McCall_

_Derek Hale_

Whatever calmness Stiles had managed to mask his face with, vanished at the sight of those names. That was exactly what he had feared, what he had tried to warn them about. But Marcus had obviously read his intentions and stopped him.

“They told you their names” he breathed out in defeat, not being able to part his eyes from the names.

Stiles barely noticed how the Dollmaker sat down on his leather chair and leaned back. Folding his hands over his stomach and staring at Stiles. Everything with a satisfied smirk on his face.

A hollow laugh escaped his lips “Buying tickets for our lottery. You would be surprise how easily they gave off their names”

Stiles looked up from the papers in front of him.

“Now, you know what I can do with these” he said, pointing at the papers “And I won’t hesitate if you don’t do what I expect and _want_ you to do”

He leaned forward, taking a knife from an open drawer. “You know I only want your service and obedience”

Stile’s throat was too dry for him to speak, his muscles too heavy to move.

Suddenly, the Dollmaker rammed his knife on the table without even looking where it fell. Stiles jumped in surprise.

The Dollmaker’s eyes were completely focused on Stiles. “Understood?”

For a second, Stiles’ eyes hushed over to the knife. Its point dug deep into the wood, piercing one of the small papers right in the middle.

“Or _he’ll_ be the first one to pay the consequences” the Dollmaker added, knowing where Stiles’ eyes were at.

It took Stiles a moment to see which one of the two he had hit.

_Scott McCall_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> I hope you liked the chapter! If you have any thoughts you'd like to share, please do so! I really appreaciate it!
> 
> Sorry for any grammar/spelling mistakes.
> 
> Melpomene :D


	3. The true Reason

Two days ago. Scott had finally found Stiles two days ago. Found him just to be sent back without him, to his old life. His old life where everyone still believed him to be lost, some even dead. No one had even the slightest idea of what Scott and Derek had seen that night, _who_ they had seen.

After Stiles had left them there, standing in the tent with thousands of questions in their minds, Derek and Scott had had no other choice than to return to the main show. But neither of them had paid any attention to the following acts. It had all rushed past them while they were lost in thoughts, trying to figure out what was going on.

And there they had missed their last clue, where Marcus, the presenter, had asked a kid to wish for whatever he wanted. In the end of that act they would’ve seen the boy holding a small kitten in his hands. But most importantly, if they had really been observant, they would’ve seen Stiles peeking carefully out of the curtains, from which the fire dancer had come out, during the entire act. Then, once the kitten had magically appeared inside an empty box, they would’ve seen his exhausted eyes, sweat running down his face and how his breaths shook.

But they had missed it.

Then, after the show had been over, they had split up, with nothing in mind but to find Stiles again and get more answers. Needless to say, they hadn’t had any luck. Instead, people from the stands hadn’t stopped bothering until they had finally agreed to buy lottery tickets.

However, when the circus had been closing, people leaving and Liam and Hayden had reappeared with tangled hair, they had been forced to leave without seeing Stiles again. Because even without agreeing on it, they weren’t going to tell anyone about Stiles. Not until they had first figured it out.

The next days had been almost equally as bad. Scott had dwelled with his thoughts, looking for any sort of explanation but getting none. The circus would stay in San Francisco for a bit more than a week, then they’d head further south. Eventually, reaching the border and starting their tour through Latin America. If Scott was going to do something, he needed to do it fast. Before Stiles left the country and it became impossible again to find him. Again.

But Scott couldn’t find anything he _could_ do. If Stiles really wanted to stay there and live out his new life, Scott had no authority to rip him out it. If Stiles didn’t want to come back, Scott couldn’t force him. The only aspect he was still considering was whether to tell Noah or not.

Being dived so deep in his thoughts, he had had absolutely no time for anything or anyone, which the pack obviously noticed. They noticed how he didn’t return their calls and ignored their texts. Even within only two days, they started suspecting something was wrong.

What Scott hadn’t expected was his mother to notice. The following Monday after their trip, Melissa asked him to sit down next to her in the kitchen. She said they needed to talk.

Once Scott was sitting opposite to her, not really knowing what to expect, she intertwined her fingers with each other, placing her tangled hands on the circular, wooden table. She didn’t seem to know quite what to say, apparently thinking things through.

After a few minutes of thinking and moving her mouth, forming soundless words, she finally sighed defeated and shook her head.

“What’s going on?” Melissa simply asked, deciding to get straight to the point.

Scott was confused for a moment “Going on? Where?”

“There’s something going on” she told him “Something troubling you. I might not have supernatural senses but a mother can always tell when there’s something wrong”

Leaning back on his chair, Scott closed his eyes for a moment. Lying was out of the question, he didn’t want to ruin the trust that had developed since there had stopped being secrets between them. That only left him one option.

“Would you believe me if I told you if it’s best for you to _not_ know?” he asked utterly honest.

“I’d _like_ to know what it is about” she replied, eying him curiously.

Scott’s shoulders slumped. His disappointed was apparently written on his face, because in the next second, Melissa turned her head to the right and breathed in.

“But if you _don’t_ want to tell me…” she continued, looking around the kitchen “It’s okay. Just promise me you’re okay”

Scott smiled “Thanks, Mom”

“And that there isn’t a body involved” her eyes widened “Oh _God_ , please tell me it doesn’t involve a dead body…”

A small laugh escaped Scott’s lips “Relax, Mom. I swear no one’s in no danger and no one will die”

She rose her eyebrows “Future tense?”

“No one has, is or will die” Scott specified. Melissa nodded slowly, relaxing.

“Whatever it is, whenever you want to talk about it, I’m here for you” she said as she got up and hugged him for a brief second.

Scott smiled at her “Thanks” he replied. And after a small pause “You’re the best. You know that, right?”

“I know” she said as she headed towards the door “But you can always repeat it”

Her footsteps echoed through the room as she reached the door. Scott could hear her hand closing around the door knob. Acting without thinking, Scott twisted his upper body so that he could look at her, standing in front of the door.

“Mom?” he asked, every sign of happiness vanished from his tone.

“Yes?” Melissa turned around, her right hand still resting on the door knob.

Scott though about it for a moment “If you knew something, a really… _big_ secret and you had to choose between betraying someone you trust or… telling it to another person to help, what would you do?”

Melissa’s hand fell from the door knob “I suppose this is all extremely hypothetical?”

“Of course” Scott nodded as serious as he could.

“Well, it would mostly depend on the secret” she answered “But if it was someone I really trusted, I’d trust that said person has a reason for keeping that secret”

Scott bit his lip and shook his head “But what if there seemed to be _no_ reason?” he asked “What if I couldn’t _understand_ why it was supposed to be a secret”

Melissa’s eyebrows rose “Then, I guess I would try to figure it out” she answered, then shrugged “Maybe there’s more to it than what I know”

-

Scott watched as Derek hovered over his keyboard, massaging his temples with his eyes closed. The older werewolf seemed nothing but exhausted, concerned and… lost.

Just like Scott, he hadn’t been able to get Stiles and Timent Mangicae out of his head. For the last few days, Derek had done the most extensive research about that circus that anyone ever had. He had looked up when and where it had been founded. Who had been there from the start and which acts had been developed with the circus’ fame. Even where they had been for the last years. But nothing seemed to hint to…

…what?

Scott didn’t know what Derek was looking for. For him everything was crystal clear. Stiles’ story about his amnesia sounded completely plausible. That’s why he couldn’t understand why Derek was so decided on finding _something_ , an answer that wasn’t there because no _question_ had been asked.

“What are you looking for?” Scott voiced his thoughts “Exactly?”

Derek looked up and after a few clicks of the cursor, dug again deep into the next website. Scott was leaning on the wall while Derek sat on his kitchen table, laptop in front of him and papers spread all over its surface.

“Why Stiles decided to stay in there” he answered “Maybe, if I find it and figure it out…”

Scott crossed his arms “Then _what_?” he asked “You’d get him to come _back_? He said it himself, he doesn’t _want_ to”

In the blink of an eye, Derek’s eyes had abandoned his screen and were staring at Scott. He frowned “Has it ever occurred to you that he might have _lied_?”

“Why would he?” Scott replied, for some reason a knot of anger in his chest “He knows what we can do. If he were in any sort of trouble, he’d have let us know”

“Why don’t you want to _consider_ there’s something wrong about all of this?”

“Why are _you_ so obsessed in proving there _is_?” Scott snapped “He was _my_ best friend after all, not yours”

“ _Was_?” Derek asked, his computer now completely forgotten “Is that what it is about?”

Scott scrunched his face “What are you _talking_ about?”

“You’re _mad_ at him” Derek got up from his chair and started to walk towards Scott “You’re so full of anger, you can’t _see_ what’s going on!”

“Oh, yeah?” Scott asked, making a step forward “And what _is_ going on?”

“That’s what I’m trying to find out!”

“You are the one that isn’t seeing straight!” Scott felt the anger rise to his face “You don’t want to accept he decided _not to_ come back! And you’re just trying to find something to fool yourself with but we _both_ know you won’t find anything! Because there _isn’t_ anything to find! We need to look things in the eye, Stiles doesn’t _want_ to come back!”

“So, you’re _mad_ at him?” Derek asked “Even if what he said was true. That would mean he lost his memories, Scott, and there was _no one_ there for him. You can’t blame him for getting a new life!”

“And I _don’t_!” Scott replied, his hands trembling by his sides “But two years ago, I clung on to the hope of finding him for more than a year and did _nothing_ more than to fool myself! I’m not going to believe in lies again just because it’s how I want things to be! Life is _not_ like that and the sooner we look facts straight in the eye, the better!”

“You’re _scared_ ” Derek scoffed, shaking his head “You’re scared this story will turn out to be true and that your hopes of getting him back will be crushed again. That’s why you don’t want to let yourself believe there might be a chance of him coming back”

Scott’s heart was pounding in his chest, his inner wolf yelling inside him to just be let out. Scott had to do everything in his power to control himself, but honestly, he didn’t know if he wanted to anymore “I’m seeing the _truth_! Stiles is _not_ coming back and you should accept it instead of obsessing over it because you didn’t get a chance to tell him how you _felt_!”

Silence.

Derek’s eyes flashed blue “ _What_ did you just say?”

But Scott wasn’t going to step back. Not now that the rage had finally gotten out, now that that relieving and cathartic feeling was forming in his chest “You think we didn’t notice? _Please_! It was obvious! It still is! Why else would you make such an effort to find him?”

“ _Get out_ ” Derek’s voice was quiet, firm. And still, Scott could feel the anger and fury in Derek’s voice. How he was doing his best to not rip his head off.

Just when Scott was inches away from the door, his hand already reaching out for the doorknob, he heard Derek’s voice again.

“I’m glad he’s not here right now” he said, looking at his screen “He’d be disappointed in how little faith you have in him after all the times he believed in you”

Scott didn’t say anything. But he slammed the door shut so hard, the doorframe cracked and the lock broke.

-

Stiles stared up at him, smiling, almost no hair on his head and an oversized lacrosse uniform on him. He was holding a stick in his hand while he smiled at the camera. Scott’s fingers brushed over the glass of the photograph.

He remembered the day this photo had been taken, a few months after he had turned into a werewolf. Stiles had been so glad he was going to play instead of sitting on the bench, he had taken a photo of that day, to remember it.

A smile hushed on Scott’s lips as he put the frame back on the shelf. There were other photos too, of his parents, of Lydia and most of them of him and Scott. The earliest one of them from when they were seven and they’d dressed up as cowboys in Halloween to go trick or treating.

Scott sighed, letting his eyes wander through the pictures. He was so lost in his thoughts, he didn’t hear Noah get into the house, walk up the stairs and lean on the doorframe.

“They’re great, aren’t they?” Scott jumped and turned around, hearing his own pulse in his ears.

But the sheriff didn’t seem to notice, or if he did, he didn’t show. “It almost seems like he’ll come back any second and add more of them to the bunch”

Scott looked at Noah apologetically “I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to break in or anything but…” he took a deep breath. What had he come here for? Scott didn’t really know. The only thing he did know was that after the fight with Derek he had needed to be somewhere he felt safe. Then, he had found himself parking in front of Stiles’ house and walking into his room.

“You needed somewhere you could be alone and think?” Noah completed his sentence. His eyes travelled through his son’s room, inspecting everything like he was seeing it for the first time “Yeah, I come here sometimes too when I need to feel close to him”

Scott nodded “I guess I’ll get going then…”

“No, Scott” Noah shook his head “Don’t be ridiculous, you can stay here however long you want. I’ll go down and eat something before heading back to the station. But stay, he’d be happy if you visited”

With those words he left, leaving Scott alone in Stiles’ intact room. He couldn`t help but feel like a traitor, filthy and guilty. He knew where Stiles was, he could have told Noah. He could have told him, and the police would have burst into that goddam circus and gotten Stiles out.

But for some reason he hadn’t. And he really didn’t know why. This was all just such a big mess. How could Stiles put him in this position? How could he leave him like that? Hurt so many people?

Derek was right. Scott was mad, no, he was _furious_. All this time, he had imagined Stiles held somewhere against his will, hurt or in the worst of cases dead. But in reality, he had been in a circus! A circus in his _new_ life. It might not have been Stiles’ fault, but that sure didn’t stop the storm of anger inside of him.

Scott tried to take a deep breath to calm himself down, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t understand. He didn’t want to. Stiles had left. And was never going to come back. Not because he had been killed, but because he preferred it that way. He preferred his father to not know anything about him.

With his heart pounding in his chest, Scott ran his hands through his hair. They were shaking violently. Had Stiles even _thought_ about him during this entire time? Had he thought about the pain his loss had caused? Just a stupid _call_ would have been enough, one _fucking_ call to let them know he was alright.

Suddenly losing total control over himself, Scott grabbed the thing closest to him and, without even bothering to look at it, threw it across the room with all the strength he could manage. The small trophy Stiles had won in sixth grade hit the opposite wall with an immense force, making it crack. Dust flew from the surface as the trophy fell to the ground clinging loudly.

Scott tried to breath in once again, to recover his composure but he couldn’t. He was so mad, so goddamn mad. Shaking his head, Scott let himself fall on Stiles’ bed, sitting on the edge.

His head slumped down on his palms. This couldn’t be true. Everything from the day since Stiles had disappeared was nothing more than a dream. A very long, torturous nightmare. Soon, he would wake up in his sheets, go to school and hug Stiles. Then; he’d make him promise to never leave Beacon Hills without him.

But that’s the thing about hopes. No matter how hard you want them to be true, they can only exist in the realm called imagination. Therefore, Scott knew he wasn’t going to wake up and Stiles wasn’t going to walk into Beacon High like he had done two years ago. This wasn’t a dream. It was reality.

He sighed, rubbing his eyes with his fingers. 

When he looked up, ready to leave the room, a bright screen caught his eyes. Stiles’ computer was on, but he had no idea how or why. Only then did he notice the small golden trophy by the chair’s feet and the cracked wall right above the computer, the wall’s painting gone where the trophy had impacted it.

It had been him. Scott sighed. What else had he expected? The computer to just magically turn on and tell him what to do? Scott shook his head, scolding himself for being so stupid.

And now, in this exact moment, the hints he should’ve picked up at the circus would’ve been useful, would have directed him to the right direction. Because if he had even considered that impossible things were possible, he would’ve believed Stiles’ disappearance had something to do with it.

But the impossible acts in the circus were the last thing on his mind right now.

However, this was about to change.

Giving the monitor one last glance before shutting the computer off, a notification appeared on the right side of the screen.

645 notifications.

Scott’s eyebrows rose. It wasn’t anything unusual, but it did somehow surprise him how something as simple as a computer could turn his feeling into a bigger chaos. That second, he didn’t know what drove him to enter Stiles’ mails. Later, he would realise it was only the wish to feel close to him and understand.

As he scammed through the received messages, mostly advertisements glanced back at him. From Amazon, Restaurants and even Wikipedia. How Stiles had managed to get mails from Wikipedia was a mystery to him, but if anyone could, it would be Stiles.

Scrolling down and looking for something, really _anything_ , he couldn’t help but notice one particular address from which Stiles had received various e-mails.

**answersformagicians@net.com**

At first, he thought it was some silly website Stiles had stumbled on. But after noticing how many emails he got, his fingers started to itch and suspicion to grow in his mind.

Giving in to the temptation, he clicked on the next email he found.

It was another advertisement. A photo of a book almost took up the entire page. Next to it, there was information about it. Everything in front of a black background with a name printed various times on it.

_Answers for Magicians._

Scott took a closer look at the photograph. It was a green book, but it looked _old_ , like a book from another century, bound in leather and with yellow, thick pages.

“Runic Language- Master Old Nordic Magic” was the books name. Looking at the description, Scott discovered it was from an anonymous writer from an anonymous source. It was written in English and had over 600 pages.

He scrolled further down and read the message bellow.

_New book for sale!_

_Only one copy, originally from Iceland. For more information about purchase visit our website and fill in the necessary documents. Also for more information and books to help your development as a magician our website is suited to help._

Such a message didn’t surprise Scott. There were all sorts of crazy people on the internet. What did confuse him was why Stiles would get such a mail. It didn’t take a lot of guessing to figure out the other mails were like this one, advertisements to magical books.

On the lowest part of the mail were two links, one to unsubscribe and another to the web site. Scott could’ve just clicked on the first one and turn the computer off again, forgetting this and dismissing it as a simple mistake.

But he didn’t.

Instead he gave in to the temptation and clicked on the second link, a new page immediately opened. After a few seconds, the same black background appeared. Answers for Magician printed like a pattern on it. Then, advertisements about other books started to show on the right side, above them a searching bar. In the middle of the page was a photograph of a 50- to 60-year-old looking woman. Her hair was short and white, her wrinkled nose caring round glasses.

There was a text next to her photograph. And Scott read it, concentrating completely on its content. First the woman introduced herself as Laureen Adler, a magician with the ability to “ _feel presence of magic be it in object or beings, and feed upon it”_. Scott had no idea what that meant, but this website seemed to be weird enough to claim something like that. Then, she went on explaining what a spark was and what different types there were. Something tingled in the back of Scott’s mind at those words but he couldn’t really put his finger on where he might have heard that before.

Laureen talked about dormant sparks and woken sparks. When they woke, why they woke or why some people were born with woken ones while others lived their entire life not knowing they had a dormant one. By the end of the passage Scott figured that the _spark_ was some sort of magical power some people had.

Then, she talked about her life and her powers, ending her text by claiming she wanted to help young magicians with no idea about their legacy. That’s why she sold books about magic and posted as many information about magicians as she could find.

At the deepest end of her text was a link.

**Contact me for individual counselling.**

Scott wouldn’t have paid any attention to that link. But the words weren’t blue, like almost every link was on the internet. It was purple, like it was when you had already clicked on the link before.

Two years and no one had bothered to erase Stiles’ computer history. They had looked through it but found nothing but Wikipedia pages one after another. And Scott knew if anyone had found this website, it would be the last thing to raise suspicion.

He clicked on the purple letters.

A chat opened in a smaller window next to the website. Scott thanked whatever mighty force there was for all the conversation still being there. Stiles’ messages were on the right inside blue bubbles while Laureen’s were on the other side inside green bubbles.

Scott looked at the date of the last message.

His breath stuck in his throat.

It was from two days before Stiles had last been seen in Beacon Hills.

 ** _“See you soon. Will be there”_** was the chat’s last message from Stiles.

Then, before that one, there was one from Laureen Adler.

**_“I can’t discuss this matter in such an open via. Come to my bookshop in Sacramento, 1114 21 st St. We’ll be able to discuss this further with more privacy. I’ll do my best to help you”_ **

For one second, it seemed like the world had stopped spinning.

No sound, no image, nothing got to Scott’s mind. His eyes were firmly fixated on the three lines of the woman’s message. His heartbeat in his ears, his sweaty palms, his shallow breaths, it all seemed to be in a distant reality to Scott.

… _my bookshop in Sacramento_ …

He remembered more than two years ago, the sheriff and Lydia coming into the entrance of their hotel, walking straight towards Scott and Derek waiting in some sofas in the lobby.

“Nothing” the sheriff had said “Just a bookshop owner. Stiles apparently looked through some of her books before heading back out. She hasn’t got the slightest of clues”

Feeling like his heart could explode any second, Scott scrolled the entire conversation up. He would read every single word of it. Every single one.

The first message was enough to set Scott into awe. He couldn’t believe what he was reading. He couldn’t believe Stiles was saying the truth in those messages.

As he kept reading message after message, memories started to flash in the back of his mind.

He remembered Stiles standing on his porch, overly excited, barely able to control himself.

“I need to leave just during a few days. Two tops” he had said “I’ll get answers! Things we hadn’t dreamed of! You won’t believe it when I tell you!”

Then, after getting no straight answer regarding the matter of his departure, Stiles had smiled and promised him to bring back a surprise. From which the entire pack would profit.

What better surprise could there be than this?

Then, when he reread the last message another seemingly unrelated memory popped up in his mind.

About a girl, her elbows on a counter and her chin on her palms. Her sweet eyes looking up at them and a word. A simple word she had said but that now meant the universe to Scott.

Memories of that day kept appearing on his mind. All those things he had seen that night. The dragon of fire, the tele transportation, the rose and apple.

It fit together. Somehow.

Not waiting another second, he printed the entire conversation in various sheets as well as the website itself. When he was done, he had only one destination in mind.

-

Sadly, said destination wasn’t willing to let him in.

Scott knocked on the door again. Harder with the right side of his fist.

“Derek, open the damn door!” he shouted “I know you’re in there, I can hear your heartbeat!”

The door didn’t open. In the couple of hours Scott had been gone, Derek had somehow managed to get a new lock. One of better quality. Now, he was ignoring him. Of course he was, Derek had no reason of believing Scott was here for any other reason than to crush his hopes of finding Stiles and offending his love-life.

After a few minutes of getting no response at all, Scott sighed and ceased knocking. He took a deep breath.

“Listen, Derek, I’m sorry” he shouted, hoping Derek would listen “The things I said. I was wrong. Do you hear me? I was _wrong_! I went to his house and… I found something… something that answers…”

Suddenly, the door opened and a very unpleased Derek stood before him, placing his body in front of the door to not let Scott into his apartment.

He crossed his arms “What did you find?”

Scott crammed the folded papers from his back pocket. Without saying a word, he unfolded them and handed them over to the older werewolf.

As Derek scammed the first page -the one with Laureen Adler’s story-, Scott spoke.

“I was looking inside his mails and found that” he explained “A link to that website and from that a chat between the author and Stiles”

Derek finished the first page and then turned to the second one. His eyebrows rose and his heartbeat sped up as he read one message after the other, just like Scott, placing the pieces together.

Once he was finished, Derek stared at the last message for a few seconds before looking up at Scott.

“That’s why he left” Scott said, smiling after finally, after more than two years, getting some real answers “He went to Sacramento to get answers. Answers about the things that were happening around him, _to_ him”

Scott glimpsed at the pages and then back at Derek “Stiles started to develop magical abilities. That was his surprise. Magic. It was _his_ magic”

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you liked the chapter!
> 
> And the deepest thank you for reviewing and for the kudos! If you've got any thought you'd like to share, please do so! I would appreciate it a lot!
> 
> Melpomene


	4. The Dollmaker

For the thousandth time in the last thirty hours, Scott’s phone buzzed in his pants. This time, the werewolf didn’t bother fishing it out of his pocket, he was perfectly aware of who was calling. The stringing melody echoed between the car’s wall for a couple of seconds before dying out. Just like it had the times before.

“You could at least make up a lie” Derek commented to his left.

Even though Scott knew Derek’s hadn’t parted his eyes from the freeway before them, Scott turned his gaze from the green fields to his grumpy companion.

“And tell them what, exactly?” Scott asked “That we are shopping in _Sacramento_? The sheriff would immediately know what we’re up to.”

Derek’s eyes briefly brushed Scott “What did you tell your mom?”

Feeling guilt fall on his chest, Scott turned to look again at the window “That you were going to teach me werewolf-stuff”

“ _Werewolf_ - _stuff_?”

Scott decided to ignore the incredulity and mocking in that sentence.

“She knows something’s wrong” Scott explained, remembering their conversation a day ago “She thinks this will make me feel better”

Derek took in a deep breath “Let’s hope it will”

\--

When he had been ten, Scott had fallen off a tree. Stiles had dared him to climb as high as he could, and naïve Scott had accepted. He had been a bit more than two meters above the ground when a branch had snapped beneath his grip. Not being able to react quickly enough, he hadn’t had time to wrap his arms around the bark. Instead, he had accelerated full speed, crashing to the ground on his left side. Pain had exploded all over his body and he had cried and jelled and screamed.

Stiles had rushed to his side to help him, his mum had come, he had been taken to the hospital. The entirety of his left side had been plagued by bruises, making a simple effort like raising his hand, excruciatingly seize his body. His leg had also broken, condemning him to four weeks of boring torture.

Never, even when he had become a werewolf and gotten his butt served far too many times, had he felt as bad as during those weeks. Maybe the memory was worse than it had really been, but Scott had hated every agonizingly slow second of that month.

The pain he was feeling now was far worse.

It wasn’t physical pain. His body was in fact in a perfect state. Aside from the raising heat in his vision, his throbbing heart and the blood pumping rapidly in his ears, Scott felt like any other day.

But _damn_ did it hurt.

His hands clenched into fists, as he stared at the closed glass door. There was nothing behind it, just an empty, void white room with a chair and table here and there.

There was no counter, no sofas, no shelves, no books. Not a single soul.

The sign that should’ve been above their heads had also disappeared. There was not a single sign of a bookshop ever being here. Before him was an abandoned floor.

The only lead they had on finding the truth behind Stiles’ disappearance had been relinquished.

Alpha and Beta stood paralyzed for minutes, or it could’ve been hours really. Time didn’t seem to mean anything. In fact, nothing seemed to mean anything at all.

Finally, Scott found the strength to return to reality.

“What now?” he whispered, still staring at the empty room enclosed by white walls.

Derek shook his head. He was probably feeling as helpless and disappointed as Scott was. Not talking about the crushing weight over their chests.

However, Scott soon noticed the werewolf wasn’t willing to give up that easily. Without giving a single explanation to Scott, he stormed away. It took Scott a moment to realize he was walking towards the small grocery store across the street.

Soon, Scott reached Derek’s side and together they entered the store. It was humble and small, only having the necessary for a quick emergency shopping. A few shelves were lined up, leading to the cashier behind a counter.

She was older than Derek, about thirty years old. Apparently, not much happened around here for her eyes brightened when she spotted the two customers walking towards her.

Scott quickly realized what Derek’s plan was. Contrasting the Beta, Scott wasn’t a grumpy, highly emotional being without a brain. Running up to her and demanding answers wouldn’t get them very far.

Acting quickly, Scott grabbed the thing closest to him from a shelf, which happened to be two bottles of water. About a meter before Derek reached the cashier, Scott quickened his pace and (luckily) arrived at the counter first.

He placed the two bottles in front of him and smiled at the cashier. His eyes travelled down at her name-tag. Leslie.

Leslie seemed confused for a second and her gaze shifted from Scott to Derek. However, in a matter of seconds, she shrugged and took one bottle to start typing into her machine.

It was now or never.

“Can I ask you something?” Scott asked casually and leaned on the counter “My friend and I are not from around here and I think we got pretty lost”

Leslie looked up from the small display in front of her. She clicked on a key of the keyboard in front of her before looking at Scott and smiling warmly.

“Of course.” she answered.

“We were looking for a bookshop” Scott tried to sound normal in spite of his heart racing “I think it was called Laureen’s magical books. Do you know where that is?”

Behind him, Derek shifted slightly. Scott thanked God Derek had understood what he was doing and had decided not to intervene.

Something similar to disgust flashed across Leslie’s eyes for a second.

“You’re not lost” she answered, quickly returning to her cheerful smile “The shop was just across the street. It closed a while ago, though”

Derek leaned closer behind Scott “Do you know what happened?”

Leslie looked at him for a second, then she shook her head. “Not really, Laureen just didn’t come in one day. About two years ago, maybe even less”

Scott’s back tensed.

Could it be a coincidence?

Leslie shrugged, not noticing their reaction and ducked for a second to get a red plastic bag from under the counter.

As she started packing the bottles, Derek decided to speak up again.

“What about the people that went there?” he asked, “Did they tell you anything?”

As she handed Scott the red bag, Leslie eyed Derek with distrust.

“It’s not like those people were the most social ones” she commented.

Scott frowned “What do you mean?”

“They were _weird_ , in the best case” she answered. For a moment she seemed lost in her thoughts, then she shook her head “I always wondered what kind of books she sold. The people that always came, they were… well, they weren’t _normal_ ”

Scott’s hands closed around the bag. A darkness above him threatened to swallow his heart with a new wave of disappointment. Pushing it back, he decided that leaving was the best thing he could do.  Just when he was about to say his goodbye and leave the shop with Derek, a voice in the back of his mind made him stop.

“Would you happen to know where to find any of them?”  he asked “Anyone that knows anything about that shop?”

The ceiling crushed Scott underneath its weight when the girl shook her head.

“Wait” her eyes suddenly gained a new colour “There’s this bar, not far away from here. I’ve seen one of what used to be her frequent customers take a beer there. If you’re lucky, he’s there right now”

\--

When Scott and Derek walked into the bar, they had hoped the vague description Leslie had given them would be enough to find their man. About forty, blonde military cut and hollow brown eyes. She remembered him always wearing thick sweatpants and a dirty white hoodie. When she had described him, Leslie had seemed everything but fond of that man.

Although she had done her best, Scott had still doubted they would be able to find the man. It was already seven o’clock in the evening and there was a high chance that the bar would be filled like a bottle.

However, all his worries were subdued a second after he had entered the bar.

Judging by the way Derek’s body froze next to him, Scott guessed that the werewolf had found the same thing he had.

“One more time!” a man in a white, almost grey, sweatshirt yelled in the crowd “Ain’t gonna lose today. Wanta see m’luck up close?”

Scott grimaced in disgust at the man he was seeing. In the furthest corner from the entrance was a round table surrounded by chairs. Half sitting and half laying on those chairs were about seven men and some women wearing considerably small clothes standing and sitting around them.

Cards fell on the table, as did coins and bills. The man in the white sweatshirt extended his arms and enclosed a heap of coins. Clearly enjoying the moment, he pulled them closer, adding quite an amount to the already considerably big mount of coins in front of him.

A woman in a gleaming blue dress was sitting on his lap, her arms wrapped around his neck and her eyes locked on his lips.

“Ain’t nothing but a cheater, Bart!” another man on the table said “Gimme my money back!”

The blued dressed woman looked at the man like he was an ant beneath her boot “The baby can’t handle losing?”

Evil laughter exploded from every corner of the table. The man was brought to silence. Glasses were filled again, and another round began.

Derek’s hand fell on Scott’s shoulder “Come on”

Scott really hoped this wasn’t the man they were looking for. However, his very own eyes proved that this had to be the customer Leslie had talked about.

As they walked closer, Scott observed him carefully. When the cards were being shuffled, Bart gazed at the deck with utter concentration and wrinkles between his eyes. Then, when the cards started to fly in front of them, he waved his hand however slightly. No one noticed it moving beneath the table. But Scott could’ve sworn he saw the deck of cards shift. It got thicker and shallower several times in the blink of an eye.

Finally, when all the players were looking at their cards and Bart grinned mischievously, that was when Scott knew it was him.

Quickening their pace, the werewolves made their way to the table. No one even bothered to look at them, the game was attracting everyone’s attention. By the time Derek reached Bart’s side, he had uncovered his game.

Full house.

As Bart laughed pleased and the woman leaned down to connect her lips with his, Derek tapped his shoulder. Scott was glad Derek had decided to be the one to speak up. His strong built body and muscles would get him the respect he needed, whereas Scott doubted he would’ve been taken seriously. He would’ve most probably gotten beaten up for interrupting the game. Not that they would come out of it unharmed, but Scott knew he didn’t look as old as he sometimes would like.

“We need to talk” Derek stated coldly, not caring that the man hadn’t turned around.

Not bothering to look up from his game, Bart scoffed “Piss off”

One second, Scott doubted if Derek would really walk away. No one was even acknowledging his existence, there was no chance he was going to get any of the players, much less the best one, to talk to him. The heap of money kept growing, making Scott doubt if that man ever got anything but the things he wanted. Meanwhile, the blue-dressed woman eyed Derek slowly with a derogatory frown, urging him to walk away.

Responding to this, there was anger in Derek’s eyes. With utter confidence, he leaned forward and whispered something into the man’s ear so quietly that even Scott couldn’t understand.

Whatever it was, it had an immediate effect on him. Bart’s eyes widened, and his spine straightened. With fright and bewilderment in his eyes, he finally leaned back to look at Derek who only raised his eyebrows intriguingly. Somehow, the game and the woman didn’t seem to be on Bart’s mind anymore.

-

“What the hell did you tell him?” Scott asked Derek in a whisper as he took a seat next to said werewolf.

In front of them, Bart was holding a glass full of liquor and looking at them with something between respect and hate. It didn’t seem like he was eager to talk. Most probably, he wouldn’t get a chance to return to his easy victories since another man had taken his place and his blue-dressed companion.

Derek chose to ignore Bart’s situation.

“I asked him what his friends would think if they found out about his spark” he answered Scott, not caring about the man glaring at him.

Scott raised his eyebrows, somehow glad he had taken Derek with him. He hadn’t been aware of Derek’s manipulation skills. It had been something as obvious as the sun rising that Bart had used some sort of… _thing_ to win. Since this man had some connection to Laureen, it had to be a spark. Using this knowledge to his advantage was one of the smartest things they could do.

The bar wasn’t very full here. Most of the action was happening on the other corner of the bar, where the blue-dressed woman was whispering something into another man’s ear. Glasses were being filled and cards shuffled. Whatever the case, things were different here. The round metallic tables were used by quieter clients who only wanted a drink and have a good time with friends.

Eyeing the table he longed for, Bart spoke without really paying attention “Whatcha want?”

“What do you know about Laureen’s book shop?” Scott got straight to the point. He wondered why his heart throbbed in his chest every time he asked about that damn shop.

Apparently, his body wasn’t the only one that reacted that way to the woman’s shop. Bart’s head snapped at Scott, every drop of alcohol had evaporated out of his body. His eyes were crystal-clear when they dug into Scott’s. There was something in them, something Scott couldn’t place exactly.

He stared at Scott for a second, maybe with anger or surprise or bafflement. Whatever the case, the man seemed to be waiting for something. If Scott didn’t think of him as a total idiot only interested in money, he might have thought he was thinking.

When the silence was starting to get thick, Bart’s eyes jumped to Derek and then back to Scott. What he did next was the last thing Scott expected.

He laughed.

It wasn’t uncontrolled or sincere, it wasn’t honest. It was smeared with superiority and mocking. Shaking his head, Bart brought his glass back to his lips and drank its entire content on one gulp.

“You ain’t got an idea what you’re messing with, right boy?” he asked when his glass was back on the table.

It bothered Scott to know that the man was right. He _had_ no idea what he was talking about. That was _why_ he was asking.

Scott clenched his fists under the table.

“What happened to it?” his voice was hard as a stone.

The man leaned forward over the table “Ever heard of The Dollmaker?”

Scott immediately turned to look at Derek next to him, wanting to see if that name meant anything to him. Because to Scott, the name was as foreign as Bart had been to him a couple of minutes ago.

However, there was nothing in Derek’s eyes. No recognition, no enlightenment, only confusion hidden behind a face of stone.

Their exchange of glances was answer enough to the man, he leaned back on his chair. Scoffing and yet laughing at the same time.

“Listen, kid” his voice suddenly turned dead serious “That’s someone you don’t mess with, get it? You don’t know about him, celebrate your luck. Don’t dig any further, he’ll find out”

If those words did one thing, it was inciting Scott into asking. His curiosity was threatening to explode out of him.

The same thing happened to Derek.

“Who is he?” he asked the man.

Bart didn’t say anything for a second, then he shook his head decisively “I’m not telling” he finally answered “You can tell them I cheated, I don’t give a _shit_. I’d rather lose everything I got, and not have _him_ behind my back”

Derek and Scott exchanged another glance. It dawned on them at the same time that this might be more serious than what they had initially thought. Whatever the case, Stiles’ face was enough for Scott to not care about how powerful that Dollmaker was. He wanted answers.

“What about Laureen?” he asked Bart “What happened to her?”

Something new glimpsed for a second in the man’s eyes. Something like respect.

“You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that” he replied, then he leaned forward “She had this shop, helped people like us. It’s a rumour but… She met one of his minions… The Dollmakers’. She tried to oppose to him, defending someone he was trying to catch” he shrugged “She lost, like everyone does against him. She knew staying there wasn’t safe, nothing is when it comes to him. It was a few weeks, then she was gone”

Scott looked at the man for a second “And you?” he found himself asking, not knowing why “Why aren’t you running like her?”

Bart drew a grimace “I’m not stupid” he answered “You do what he says, nothing happens. He doesn’t want anything from me, so I get to be safe as long as I don’t mess with him”

-

It was a couple of minutes later that Derek and Scott walked out of the club. None of them wanted to talk about what they had just discovered. It seemed like a curse upon their heads. Every time they had hoped to get something, just something that reassembled an answer, they had only gotten more questions.

The Dollmaker? Who was he? Was there any chance that he had something to do with Stiles’ disappearance? How did the circus fit into all of this? What had Stiles gotten into? Had he really lost his memories?

Question over question plagued his mind. So, what could be said right now? Should they talk about how many things they _didn’t_ know? List all of their questions just to find out they knew even less than what they thought?

Scott wouldn’t do that to himself. Why was it so hard to find Stiles? No, to find out _anything_ about him? They knew where he was, only a few hundred kilometres away but yet, he seemed to be inside an entirely different world.

For a second, Scott really doubted if it was all worth it. If the hope was worth it. When he had been a child, he had always been taught hope was good, hope was light. But that was only half the truth. Hope was a weapon that could cut deeper into flesh and make you bleed unlike than anything else. Because there was nothing that tore his heart in as many pieces as realising it had all been for nothing. Having to see everything shatter to pieces in front of him. Losing Stiles again.

Maybe he should just let things be.

For both their sakes.

However, that same voice that had made him ask if Leslie knew if there was any customer they could talk to, that voice rose again. It reminded him of Stiles’ eyes, his face, him. Stiles was alive. His best friend was alive.

That was enough to keep him going.

At least for now.

Scott was so submerged in his thoughts that he didn’t realized a shadow had been following his footsteps.

It was when they had already entered the parking lot, that Scott and Derek noticed something was wrong. And it wasn’t because of their heightened senses, or their own doing in fact.

They noticed, because suddenly two silhouettes appeared in front of him. After that, it didn’t take long for them to realize they weren’t there accidentally. Derek’s car wasn’t far, but they wouldn’t be able to get there without crossing paths with the two silhouettes.

Then, Scott glanced over his shoulder. Not because he expected someone to be there, but because it was his first instinct to do so. Which made the surprise rise in his chest when he noticed that another figure hidden in shadows was also approaching from behind.

He immediately halted and closed his hand in a tight grip around Derek’s bicep. The other werewolf halted in the beat of a second, glancing at Scott with worry and yet determination. It only took a slight nodding of Scott in the direction from which the third figure was approaching, and Derek realized what was happening.

It took one quick scanning to confirm what Scott had already feared. The parking lot was almost empty. There were only a few cars abandoned for the night. Even the stars and moon were invisible because of the thick grey layer of clouds in front of them.

The second Scott used to scan his surrounding was the second the three figures needed to get to their side. All of them were dressed similarly. Ripped jeans and a hoodie, only the colour changed.

Scott turned around to look at the shadow behind him wearing a black hoodie. He didn’t know why but he felt like this was the leader of the group. He was the one he would have to talk to get out of this.

In a few seconds he would know how he knew.

Following his example, Derek turned around to look at the same figure. He couldn’t have been older than thirty.

“Is there a problem?” Derek asked and crossed his arms, looking at the figure.

Scott didn’t say anything, but his straight spine, his defiantly raised chin and his tensed muscles spoke volumes for him.

“Actually, there _is_ ” he answered and pulled down his hood.

It wasn’t a special face, not something Scott would remember. Hollowed cheeks, sharp cheekbones, lips drained of any colour. But the eyes…

They flashed yellow for a second.

Knowing what he was facing, Scott didn’t bother hesitating anymore. As a response, his eyes also flashed. But his were red.

“You were saying?”

However, aside from a flicker in his eyes, the beta in front of him didn’t seem intimidated by Scott’s authority. If he was, he didn’t show.

“We heard you are looking for The Dollmaker” he answered, crossing his arms “We want you to stop”

Derek raised his eyebrows, incredulous “Excuse me?”

The werewolf eyed him for a second “Who are you? You don’t belong to any pack from around here”

For a moment Scott really doubted if it was smart to reveal their identities. They knew nothing about them and this pack was threatening them. However, Scott knew how much weight the words Hale and True Alpha carried. Maybe then, the werewolves in front of him would leave them alone.

“I’m Scott McCall, he’s Derek Hale” Scott found himself saying before he knew it.

The werewolf did, in fact, seem surprised for a second. He had recognized the names. Then, he shook his head and the ice returned to his eyes.

“Doesn’t matter who you are” he said but his voice was softer, with more respect “You can’t go and mess around with things like that, not on our watch”

“Why?” Derek asked.

They had both realized this wasn’t a menace to them. The three werewolves weren’t here to attack them, but to talk to them. Maybe not in the friendliest way, but they were here to talk.

To talk them out of what they were doing.

Why did it seem like the entire universe was against them?

The werewolf raised his eyebrows “I’m Luke, from the local pack” he answered “We’ve known about this entire business for quite a while but have decided not to intervene. If that man ever found out about us…”

He didn’t finish the sentence, but Scott _wanted_ him to. _What_ would he do? What? Why was _everyone_ so afraid of him?

Before he could voice any of the questions broiling in his head, Luke spoke up again. “We don’t want to start any sort of quarrel” he admitted, raising his palms in a peaceful gesture “Much less with a True Alpha and a Hale”

“Then what is your problem?” Derek snapped.

Luke shook his head “We can’t let you ruin us” he admitted “Take this as a friendly warning. Don’t get near the Dollmaker, because he won’t be the only to turn against you. If he finds out about us, you’ll be the one we’ll blame for what is to come”

There was not a word Scott understood about what the man was saying. He wanted to demand answers, to _know_ what was going on. But he was trapped inside his mind. Trapped inside his questions, and insecurities and confusion.

There was no need for more words to be spoken. Luke waved at his companions behind him and waved. Quickly, the other two werewolves walked over to his side. With one last glance, Luke turned around and walked away, leaving Derek and Scott alone.

Yet, Scott had never felt so overwhelmed.

_What...? How…? Why…?_

Would the questions ever come to an end?

-

Twenty minutes later, Scott realized Derek was as sick of the raising number of questions as he was. When they approached the highway entrance there were to roads they could take. North or South

North towards Beacon Hills, home, their normal life. Scott didn’t even bother thinking about the entrance, he knew which one Derek would take. He was probably as exhausted as Scott, they needed rest. Besides, they hadn’t discussed any plans to go anywhere else.

But Derek chose South.

For a second Scott thought he hadn’t paid enough attention or that he was hallucinating. He straightened up in his seat, looking over his shoulder at the way he thought they would take.

“ _What_ are you doing?” Scott didn’t bother hiding his frustration.

Derek’s eyes didn’t leave the road for a second.

“I sick of this” he answered “I’m done talking to a judging cashier, a drunken gambler and a wannabe criminal. I’m going to get real answers”

When Scott looked up in that second, he understood.

The sign above his head told him enough.

San Francisco.

It was a two-hour drive, but it didn’t bother Scott in the least. Suddenly, he was as awake as he hadn’t been during the last two years.

\---

It was almost ten o’clock when they arrived at the circus in the outskirts of San Francisco. As it had been in Sacramento, every source of light was dimmed by the clouds, leaving a blanket of darkness over the long path. Trees reached out with their arms as they drove past them, almost as if they were begging them to turn around and leave.

Derek and Scott didn’t care about the abandoned parking lot, about the dead entrance and the deserted stands. The circus had closed for quite a while and emptied of any sort of life. The children that had laughed, the colourful lights that had hung above their head and the sweet scent of candies weren’t there.

The werewolves had decided to park as far back as they could and hide the car behind the shadow of trees. No one was supposed to know they were here. Only one person.

When they had jumped silently over the fence and made their way moving through the menacing shadows of the stands, everything had been silent.

Too silent.

It wasn’t like Scott was an expert on life in a circus, but he was pretty sure, even after it had closed, that _some_ people would still hang out and joke around, relax after a day of work. He expected to spot groups sitting around a table and eating and drinking. He expected to see all of the artists meeting in a circle and talking.

None of that was the case.

There was not a single soul across the circus. It didn’t take long for Scott and Derek to find trailers further back and even further a few fancier-looking tents.

Both were hiding behind a stand, peeking from its edge to see if there was any, really any sign of movement before crossing one of the passageways and enter the living area. The yellow and black stripped tent was far behind them.

There were more than ten trailers near them, none of them looking very big. With white walls and probably three meters diameter, Scott wondered who lived there. A few hundred meters behind were trailers made of metal, with carpets and chairs before them. And very far to the back were a couple of tents, big and illuminated and colourful.

Derek pointed with his chin at the closest trailer. On the same second, both of them ran out of their cover, ducking their heads and curving their backs. When they arrived at the other side, they halted behind a white trailer.

“How do we find him?” Scott asked Derek in nothing more than a whisper.

Derek nodded at the trailers “We walk around, see if we get his scent”

Without any hesitation, Scott nodded. That had also been his plan. As they made their way across the unusually quiet trailers, Scott felt his heart beating heavily in his chest again.

Suddenly, a delicate hand closed around Scott’s shoulder, stopping him from taking a step in any direction. Scott’s muscles tensed, his chest tightened. In a matter of second he spun around, quickly followed by Derek.

They were met with green eyes.

Green eyes and long blond hair and a face they recognized. It was the psychic.

She wasn’t wearing a dress anymore, instead she had pants and a long-sleeved pullover on her. The spark in her eyes and the twinge in her smile were gone. Every feature of her face was marked with tension.

Her furrowed eyebrows, her clenched teeth, her strong cheekbones. She looked like a totally different person.

Whatever happiness she had displayed two days ago was gone. In front of them was a soldier with eyes as firm as stone.

“What the _hell_ is this?” she asked furiously, but whispering “Do you have _any_ idea of what you are doing?”

They were standing behind the trailer, trees belonging to a nearby forest behind them. Since the trailers were placed to face each other in two long lines, Scott was sure there was no way she could’ve seen them. The werewolf had in fact, no idea where she had come from and how she had come so close without getting their attention.

“You’re standing behind my trailer, dumbass” she spoke, surprising Scott “I was laying inside when I heard you”

It dawned on Scott as hard as a rock.

She could read his mind. She _had_ read his mind.

Her eyes suddenly snapped at Derek “No, the trailers aren’t empty” she answered what Scott thought Derek had been thinking “They are all… well, almost all occupied. At least these ones, I don’t know about the minions’”

Before Scott had enough time to process what she had said, Derek spoke up.

“Let’s talk, I don’t appreciate having people inside my mind” he told her, crossing his arms.

The girl shook her head “There is _no_ _talking_ going on here” she stated “You are _leaving_ this circus right now, before anyone notices”

“Why?” Scott demanded to know.

She looked at him with frustration “Listen, this isn’t a joke”

“I’m perfectly aware” Scott interrupted, getting angrier every second himself.

For one second, the girl glared at him without saying anything. Meanwhile, Scott’s skin tingled as the knowledge of her being able to look into his head loomed over him.

After a second, her eyes softened. She glanced over her shoulder quickly, as if she were making sure no one could see them.

“I know you want know what happened to Stiles” she whispered and leaned forward “But he told you, it’s best if you leave. Please, believe me, you’ll only hurt him if you stay”

“Where is he?” Derek asked, not letting her change his conviction.

“He’s not here” she replied quickly “And that makes you really lucky because if you had found him, everyone would’ve noticed”

Scott shook his head “Where is he?”

The girl looked at him with furrowed eyebrows, almost as if she were thinking about what to say.

“He’s doing a job” she finally answered.

That didn’t answer any of Scott’s questions. “What kind of job?”

“He’s out, doing a job for _him_ ” she confessed with loathing “For the owner of the circus, The Dollmaker”

Scott’s eyes widened like he had just seen the impossible. His heart was about to explode inside his chest and there was only one word inside his mind.

The Dollmaker.

The owner of the circus.

The man everyone in Sacramento seemed to fear, the man that made a woman pack her things and simply abandon her life, the name that made a man willing to lose every penny he had gambled for, the man that made a werewolf turn against a true alpha.

There was fog everywhere, fog and fire and confusion. Scott wanted to know what was going on. He wanted to know what that man had to do with Stiles’ disappearance. Why Stiles was doing a job for him. Why he was so powerful.

Suddenly, the motor of a car bellowed not to far away. After a few seconds, it grew silent. Various doors of a car were opened and then a voice cut its way through the darkness.

“Get to your trailers, _now_!” an oddly familiar voice said “ _You_ and I are going to have a _chat_ about your little _stunt_ ”

Scott knew that voice. He just needed a second to place it…

“What are you waiting for? _Go_!” the voice yelled and soon, the crashing of dirt echoed to Scott’s ears, steps running away from the source of the sound.

Immediately, the girls’ eyes drowned in fear “You need to _leave_ , now!” she almost begged “Please, just leave.”

Her head snapped back and then back at the two werewolves repeatedly. She was clearly torn and desperate. After a second, she shook her head. Her shoulders slumped.

“I can’t stay here, I have to go” then, as silently as she had approached, she left. The trailer’s door on the other side opened and then closed again.

Scott stared at Derek. Derek stared at Scott. None of them had any idea of what was happening.

However, when they heard two pairs of shoes approaching, their muscles froze. Not because they would get caught if they made any sound. Not because running away would’ve been possible without being seen.

They stayed because they knew one of those shoes belonged to Stiles.

-

It was moments like this that Stiles could only wonder how stupid he was. What had he been thinking? What had he done? He had been supposed to do as he was told, but he hadn’t. Instead, he had followed a voice he thought had left him long ago. He had listened to its advice and tried to do the right thing.

Now, he was going to pay for it.

Stiles swallowed hard, he hoped he would be the one to pay for it and not anyone else.

The Dollmaker’s writing had burned itself into Stiles’ retinas. There was no way he would forget that man’s writing. The way Scott and Derek’s name had turned into something horrible.

He was forced to return his thoughts when the firm hand closed around his arm, threw him forward. It was still a mystery to Stiles how Marcus could handle and move people to their will. Not only their minds, but their bodies.

It was like he knew every muscle, every nerve, every way to force a body to do what he wanted, whether the victim liked it or not.

Therefor, Stiles had no idea how it happened but soon, his back hit the wall of a trailer. The construction shook insecurely when his weight crashed against it. Stiles hoped Melissa hadn’t been sleeping, but he was almost sure she had waited awake for him.

However, the eyes burning with rage in front of him quickly attracted his attention back.

Marcus, taller, stronger and older than him, had cornered him against the wall.

“What the _hell_ was that, Stillinski?” he asked furiously, and Stiles felt the heat accumulate around his wrists “Do you _realize_ what would’ve happened if I had decided to fire that gun?”

Stiles stayed silent. Not because he was scared of Marcus or because he didn’t have anything to say. The real reason was because his tongue was too busy biting down on his lip, trying to distract him from the increasing pain he was feeling after each second.

After not getting an answer, Marcus got closer. Stiles tried to step back but his head only hit the hard trailer behind him.

“ _Do you_?” Marcus almost growled. At the same time the words left his mouth, a new wave of heat exploded around his wrists. It took Stiles so much by surprise, that he couldn’t hold back anymore. He groaned in pain, wanting to get those god forsaken things off him.

Satisfied, Marcus answered his own question “You would’ve made _me_ look like a liar” he spat “You could’ve made _The Dollmaker_ look like a liar.”

Stiles hadn’t thought. He hadn’t considered what would happen. He had just remembered what it felt like… For a moment he had remembered what it felt like to do the right thing.

“After what happened with your _friends_ ” he spat the word like it was trash “We were expecting you to do as you were _told,_ to _obey_ and _show_ us that you weren’t stupid enough to get any foolish ideas after seeing them”

Marcus shook his head “The Dollmaker _warned_ you when your friends left” he continued, his face centimetres away from Stiles’ “I’ll tell him what you did tomorrow, and he’ll decided what to do. Seeing them clearly affected your brain in a way we can’t afford”

A finger dug into his chest “Whatever he decides to do, you can rest assured that it will be _your_ fault” Marcus promised “Not anyone else’s. But _yours_ ”

The twenty-eight-year old man left Stiles alone in the darkness, with his head resting on the white cold wall. He didn’t even notice when Marcus left, how he walked away, his mind was loaded with memories and fears and words.

It would be _his_ fault.

The Dollmaker was going to make him pay for what he had done. He had lied to Marcus, lied to everyone. One second, he had thought he would be able to save a life.

Now, one would be lost.

And it would be one of them.

One of the three persons that mattered most to him.

Every strength he had somehow managed to retain in his body, left him at that recognition. His legs folded beneath his weight and, without really noticing, his back slid down the metal behind him until he was sitting on the grass.

Stiles rested his head on his knees.

What had he done?

The door of the trailer opened behind him. He didn’t bother looking up, he didn’t need to. Her light feet and silence were way too familiar to him.

She sat down next to him. A warm hand fell on his shoulder, pressing it with affection.

“What happened?” Melissa asked, her voice as sweet as it was when she talked to him.

Stiles took a deep breath “You know” he simply answered and looked up “You read my mind the moment I returned, why would you ask?”

She shrugged “Because talking about it might help”

Suddenly, Stiles noticed his hands were shaking. Trying to swallow the knot in his throat and ignore the burning in his eyes, Stiles looked up at the sky. It was grey and sad and hopeless.

Like his situation.

“Marcus threatened to kill the senator’s wife” he told her what she already knew “The man refused to agree to The Dollmaker’s terms and… Marcus was losing his patience. I thought he was really going to pull that trigger”

Stiles shrugged “I… _changed_ the gun”

It meant a lot to Stiles that Melissa didn’t tell him how stupid he was.

“When did he notice?”

“When we were about to leave, after the senator had given in” Stiles recalled the dreadful moment “I think Marcus wanted to fire at the sky, as a symbol, a warning. Show his power. When nothing happened, he knew it had been me”

After that, none of them said a word. There was no use. There was no comfort. They both knew what happened, they both knew what the Dollmaker was capable of doing. What he always did when someone disobeyed. It wasn’t like his minions didn’t smear it on their faces every time someone else made a mistake.

Now, it was Stiles’ turn.

They sat together, knowing tomorrow would be horrible. Stiles wouldn’t be the first one to fall victim of The Dollmaker’s power. Nor would he be the last.

That was simply how things worked.

There was no way he could’ve known that two of the person’s he was so afraid of losing were less than three meters behind him, having heard everything that had been said.

Scott and Derek stared at each other, not knowing how the world worked anymore.

 

 

 

 

 


	5. Anything

That night, Scott couldn’t find his way into the hollowness of sleep, no matter how hard he tried. Every time he closed his eyes, memories flashed behind his lids. How Stiles’ eyes had shifted nervously to Marcus when they had first found him, how Bart’s eyes had darkened at the Dollmaker’s name, how the girl had begged them to leave, how the trailer had tumbled when Stiles’ back hit it hard, how Stiles’ voice had been drained and hopeless when he had talked.

The sheets turned into ropes, tangled around Scott’s limbs, getting tighter every time shifted and move. Maybe Scott could run away from the images like that. Maybe if he threw around his sheets hard enough, he would be able to catapult those words out of his head.

If his eyes were opened or closed didn’t matter. There was no way he was ever going to get rid of this. This. That thing or situation that he hadn’t known about for two years. That he still didn’t know anything about. It was wrong. That thing was wrong. Whatever had been happening during the last years was wrong.

Scott had to stop this. But how? How could he stop something, save someone, when he couldn’t see the real danger? When he didn’t know anything about what he should be saved from?

Drops of sweat trickled down his forehead, his back, his chest. His hair was glued to his face. His shirt pasted to his stomach like a second skin.

Turning on his left shoulder, Scott pressed his eyelids against one another. It came so fast, that Scott didn’t have chance to push it back. He didn’t have a chance to stop the images. Whether it was a dream or a memory, didn’t matter.

Both were a stab in his heart.

_Scott’s legs had screamed at him to move, his arms cried to close around Stiles’ shoulders, his hands longed to hear bones crush beneath their force._

_But his mind. His mind had brought them all to silence. His mind that grasped desperately for the fragments of the conversation, attempting to make something out of it. Attempting to draw a clear picture, to distinguish the shapes. But there was no image. Only a black, colourless pit._

_When his muscles had won over the fight, shouting that everything would be better than standing still, something foreign crept into his mind._

_Tentacles of ice wrapped around his mind, not cold enough to hurt, but enough to be noticeable. In a matter of seconds, there was a bridge connecting him to…_

_Who?_

_“Go!” the girl’s voice cut its way into his mind “Please, can’t you see he’s hurt enough already?”_

_That was wrong. If Stiles was hurt, Scott ought to be walking towards him not away from him. If the situation was as dire, why wouldn’t they accept any help they could get? If Scott knew what was going on, he could do something. Anything._

_“You don’t understand” the girl continued “Seeing you once caused all this, imagine what would happen if anyone saw you again”_

_But why? What had happened inside that yellow striped tent, that had caused this? The conversation had lasted minutes, what had triggered this?_

_“There isn’t supposed to be a trigger, things don’t work here that way” the girl’s voice was desperate “Stiles will have to pay a high enough price tomorrow because of today, don’t make it any worse”_

_What had he done?_

_“He disobeyed” the girl replied. “There’s nothing you can do for him. Nothing anyone can do.”_

_All muscles froze in Scott’s body. That wasn’t possible, there had to be a way…_

_“Please, believe me” she begged “I’ll take care of him, I promise. But no one escapes from the Dollmaker, not even Stiles”_

It would have been a blessing if that had been the last time that memory visited Scott. That was not the case.

-

Clouds ruled the sky when Marcus and other two minions approached Stiles. It had been a fact it would happen. The question had only been when. Behind the clouds, the sun might have been at its peak, but it didn’t matter. No light could struggle its way out of the thick barrier of grey.

Being alone had been the best option. His friends shouldn’t get to see him like this. Defeated. After being careful for so long, one tiny mistake had ruined everything.

Sitting alone on the grass with his skin exposed to the wind’s cool touch, Stiles wondered what they were probably doing this minute.

His Dad was most presumably at the station, sitting behind his desk with files and a mug before him. Had he needed his help solving cases during the last two years? Maybe the pack had helped him, maybe they had worked together to defeat another dark druid or all-powerful alpha.

And Scott? He was probably being a badass, just like before. Being there all along, Stiles had witness Scott grow, develop, and become someone uniquely strong. If the pack would be safe, it would be safe with him as an alpha.

When his thoughts finally landed on Derek, he was surprised. Of all the times his subconscious could have chosen, there was nothing about the grumpy, violent, reclusive werewolf he had been in the beginning. Nothing about the battles and punches. Instead, Stiles remembered how it all had started. Just quick glances that had turned into nights spent together, enjoying the adrenaline of keeping it a secret.

Luckily, before he could think about the one that would be gone, the three shadows appeared before him.

-

The moment Derek’s eyes landed on Scott, a spark of knowledge glistened in them.

“You couldn’t sleep either” he stated without the shadow of a doubt.

Scott raised his eyebrows “Is it that obvious?”

The older werewolf didn’t bother replying. He just turned around, making his way into the kitchen. When Scott joined him, he spotted the coffee-filled mug on the counter and the laptop next to it.

Frowning, Scott took a seat in one of the three tall chairs in front of the counter, the one next to the laptop. An opened notebook was laying in front of him. Around the spiral, small pieces of paper hung, a torn line next to them. That explained the crumpled sheets laying through the entire apartment. Then there was Derek’s writing that totally ignored the lines. His words were scraped over the paper diagonally, in various sizes. Some things were readable, other were as impossible to read as hieroglyphs.

“What is this?” Scott asked, taking a ball of paper from the counter and opening it. More hieroglyphs.

Derek stayed on the other side of the counter, the mug before him.

“I tried to find anything” he answered “But there’s _nothing_. Nowhere. That man is a _fucking_ ghost”

Scott glanced at the computer “The Dollmaker?”

A spark of hate gleamed in Derek’s eyes as he scoffed “His name is Edmund Schwarz” he said “That’s the only thing I could find”

“The name of the owner?”

Derek nodded “But that’s all. Nothing about The Dollmaker, only about Edmund”

“About the circus?” Scott inquired.

The only answer was a shrug. “The things we already knew”

His conversation turned out like Derek’s findings, non-existent. As Scott picked up one piece of torn paper after another and read through the few things legible, Derek’s gaze was lost outside of the window. The ironic statement was hovering above the room.

What they needed was Stiles.

After a few minutes, Scott let the paper glide out of his grip “Do you think we should’ve taken him out of there?” he voiced the dark voice that had been bugging him during the last 12 hours “We had the perfect chance, we could’ve just walked out with him but we left him there…”

Derek sighed “The problem isn’t that he can’t walk out of there” he explained “There’s something… The Dollmaker has got something that is keeping him there, something to make him _obey_ ”

The last word dripped out of his mouth like it was the filthiest and dirtiest thing Derek had ever taken into his mouth.

“We’ve only got four more days” Scott spoke “Then, he’ll be lost again”

The mug gained a lot of interest from Derek’s side “First, we need to figure this out”

Like it had happened so many times during the last few days, the werewolves didn’t pay enough attention to their surroundings. It was when the door shut closed and a very-fake cough echoed through the room that their newly arrived companions got the attention they wanted.

Scott spun around in his chair, Derek’s head snapped up.

Malia and Lydia smiled warmly at them.

“What do we only have four days to figure out?”

-

Stiles was painfully aware that the cut-out newspaper articles exposed on the Dollmaker’s desk were meant to make what was to come an awful lot worse. Their dates reached far, far before Stiles had first stepped into the circus and they would outlive the present date.

This time, when Marcus had brought him in here, his ghost had haunted him from behind, following each step. Alicia, a giant woman with a few more years of life than Stiles, sat down on a chair next to the entrance. Like the Dollmaker’s, it was bound in black leather.

The last minion that had come with, Aaron, starvingly thin. He remained on the other side of the entrance with his arms crossed. Naturally, Marcus stayed to Stiles’ right after he had sat on the same chair as before.

The cupboard was opened.

Stiles swallowed hard.

The curtains shifted behind Stiles as someone else stepped into the tent. It could only be _him_.

The suspicion was confirmed when the black-suit walked into his line of vision. A shiver ran down Stiles’ spine, his lungs couldn’t get enough air and the edges of his vision turned black.

It was real.

What was happening was real.

It dawned on him as hard as a rock.

If anyone noticed his reaction at the man walking in, they didn’t say anything. Everything remained quiet, making Stiles wonder if they could hear his staggered breathing.

The Dollmaker stood across from him, his eyes cold “Stilinski, I had really hoped I wouldn’t see you in quite some time”

Stiles’ grip tightened around the armrests, he had to find a way to stop this. Splitters dug into his flesh, Stiles didn’t care. This couldn’t be happening.

“But you know how things work around here” The Dollmaker’s voice was empty, void. Like he was just going to work like any other day. “This is your doing”

How could he? He was about to commit the worse thing that could ever be done, how could he be so calm?

Stiles couldn’t take it. When the Dollmaker turned to reach his cupboard, Stiles mind went black. There wasn’t a thing but deathly horror in his mind.

“I’m sorry” he found himself saying, on the edge of his seat “I’m _sorry_ , I didn’t think. I won’t do it again. Just… _please_ , stop.”

The shaking of his hands was on another dimension to Stiles, the only thing he had energy to focus on was the black box, as big as a backpack, that the Dollmaker slowly let fall on his side of the desk.

“You should’ve though about that a day ago” The Dollmaker didn’t bother looking at Stiles “I warned you. I made myself clear. You didn’t listen”

He opened the drawer next to him and fished a bronze key out of it. It was tiny and rusty. Yet, Stiles’ hands hadn’t ever been so cold.

The lock opened. When Stiles had thought of death, screams of agony had come to mind. Not a lock.

Before he knew it, Stiles body decided to act before him. He jumped on his feet, the adrenaline setting all his veins aflame.

In a matter of seconds, two inhumanly strong hands wrapped around his sticky biceps, holding him back. Everything was happening right before him, but no matter how hard he tried, Stiles wouldn’t be able to reach it. To make it stop. The wave of pain the sudden pressure sent through his arms, told Stiles what he had already guessed.

There had been a reason why Aaron had come. The minion whose spark gave him inhuman strength.

Stiles didn’t bother trying to struggle his way out, there was none. There was only one thing he could do.

“Please” he begged desperately “ _Please_ , don’t. I’m _sorry_ ”

Dark humour stretched over The Dollmaker’s smile as he looked up “Stilinski, this was your choice. You know what you did. These are the consequences”

Stiles’ chest had never moved as quickly. The Dollmaker reached into the box and pulled it out. He pulled it out and grabbed a sharpie from his pocket.

* * *

 

It didn’t take much to realize the warmth in their smiles was drowned in irony and sarcasm. Judging by Malia’s crossed arms, her risen eyebrows, Lydia’s hand in her hip and her weight rested on the same hip, they were here to get answers.

Striding towards the couch between them, Malia rose her eyebrows “Aren’t you going to explain what is going on?”

Scott looked for help in Derek’s face. His frozen muscles and tight jaw spoke volumes. He wouldn’t get help from anyone as shocked as him.

“What are you talking about?” he asked, trying to fake cluelessness.

Lydia was too damn smart “Nice try” she narrowed her eyes and smiled like a snake “Now, are you going to tell us or are we going to have to find out on our own?”

Her eyes fell on the opened laptop. Derek’s hand immediately snapped to close it.

“Aha” Malia nodded “Not suspicious at all”

Derek stepped behind the counter. His heart was beating slightly faster than normal. The hope of Malia not noticing was nothing but a lie Scott tried to make himself believe.

“You two should be at school” Derek told them, surprising everyone present.

Malia’s mouth formed a perfectly shaped circle. After a few seconds, she laughed “ _Scott_ should’ve been at school since yesterday”

Lydia stepped between Malia and Derek, her eyes soft “We just want to help. We are a pack, remember? We _help_ each other”

Giving in, Scott sighed and jumped out of the chair.

Malia’s eyes jumped to him “Are you going to tell us? It’s big, isn’t it? Since Saturday?”

There was a fight inside Scott. One side wanted to keep this in a closed circle, they didn’t know what they were going against. They didn’t know anything about what was happening. Involving the pack could turn out to be a horrible mistake.

But Lydia was right. They needed all the help they could get. They were a pack. They were supposed to be working together.

Which one was the right side?

Scott shook his head “It’s really hard to…”

Pain flashed across his stomach. Scott doubled over, automatically wrapping his arms around his body. The pain blocked everything out around him, clouded his vision, numbed his ears. The groan filled with agony could’ve been his or not, he didn’t know.

The voices screaming his name could’ve been in another dimension.

His shaky legs couldn’t take the weight of his body anymore and crumbled beneath him. The wooden floor accelerated towards him. He would’ve crashed against it, if two strong hands hadn’t closed around his arms, holding him upright.

“Scott?” Derek’s voice fought its way through the cloud “What’s happening?”

Scott opened his mouth. He had no idea, he didn’t know where it had come from. But the stinging was there, burning his stomach.

Slowly, his eyes travelled down his chest, his abdomen and reached his stomach. Red ink was spreading all over his shirt, tainting his arm, his hand, his body.

Blood.

“Shit” Derek cursed next to Scott when his eyes landed on the same thing.

Malia’s eyes were wide with terror, Lydia was frozen in place.

Another sting attacked his cheek. This time, Scott was incredibly aware of crying out in pain. He pressed his eyes shut. The warm liquid traced its way down his face.

Malia shouted something surprisingly near. When Scott opened his eyes again, he saw her standing centimetres before him. Her eyes wide, drowned in fright.

Derek half-carried, half-dragged him across the rest of the room. When they arrived next to the couch, he let Scott’s back fall on it.

Warm hands pulled his shirt up, exposing his stomach. A slice reached from left to right, as long as Scott’s forearm.

Suddenly, a red line drew its way across Scott’s abdomen. I was like a knife was cutting him open, only that there was no knife. It burned, making him yet again grunt in pain. The pack had seen this before, they had seen slashes.

But never had they appeared out of nowhere. Never had their skin just gashed opened. Like this.

“What the _hell_ is happening?” Lydia shouted, her eyes filled with fear as she stared at the wound that had created itself. Her shoulders shook as did her whole body.

Scott shook his head “I… don’t know” he forced his lungs to get out.

Malia stared in horror as another line dug its way through Scott’s arm, making him take in a sharp breath. His entire body was burning now, each slash adding new sparks to the fire.

“What the hell did you two get into these last two days?” Malia shouted at Derek, terrified.

Derek’s eyes were glued to Scott’s stomach “Nothing!” he said more to himself than to her “He didn’t even _see_ us…”

Through the haze of pain and the fire of the stings, Malia’s words suddenly catapulted Scott into the past.

One word.

It made perfect sense.

It was in the meaning.

When his eyes connected with Derek’s, they had both come to the same conclusion.

They breathed it out at the same time, not louder than a whisper.

“The Dollmaker”

-

Stiles didn’t know when he had forgotten there was no way he was getting out of Aaron’s grip. Iron hands held him in place as he shifted and turned and trampled to get free. His gaze was chained to the hands before him.

The hands that were holding that monstrous doll. That thing that was only clumps of wool stuffed into a brown sack. A brown sack that looked vaguely like a person due to the threats tightly wrapped around some parts, shaping the head, body and limbs.

His name was written across the doll’s chest.

Scott McCall.

Stiles tried again to slide out of the grip holding him, as the Dollmaker placed the knife he was holding over the Doll’s right leg. He cut into it, leaving a long slash across the creature’s thigh.

“ _Please_ ” Stiles begged for the thousandth time “Please, stop. _Please_ ”

He tried to step on Aaron’s foot, he tried to turn his arms out of his grip.

But he couldn’t get out.

Scott was being killed before his eyes.

Stiles’ heart was throbbing in his chest, his entire body shaking, tears dripping down his cheeks.

The Dollmaker looked up at him, his eyes filled with darkness “This is to remind you _who_ you should obey” he spat “I can do this to _every single_ friend of yours, and you knew it. This is what you get for trying to fool us”

Stiles grunted, letting out his frustration. He didn’t know if he was really trying to get out anymore, or if he was trying to get the adrenaline rushing through his veins out, taking the fury out on someone.

The knife fell on the doll again, cutting its other arm. The Dollmaker wasn’t even looking at his doll, his eyes were set on Stiles, examining every single attempt to struggle he was doing with cool calmness.

No one ever spoke of this. All the ones that had come before Stiles, they’d been broken and defeated afterwards, they had tried to forget. They had never uttered a word. Thus, Stiles had known it was bad. Whatever happened in here was bad and traumatizing.

But he had never imagined The Dollmaker would turn this into a game. This was a game for him. Cutting Scott one time after another before killing him, looking at Stiles, seeing him fall to pieces, beg for it to stop.

It was a game of power.

The one he always won.

Stiles was utterly sure. He would _never_ live through something as horrible ever again.

“ _Please_ ” Stiles tried one more time “ _Please_ , let him live. I won’t do anything like that again. I promise. I’ll do _everything_ you say. _Anything_. No matter what. I promise. But _please_ , let him live. _Please_ ”

To his surprise, The Dollmaker’s eyes sparked.

“ _Anything_?” he asked with a smile.

Stiles was selling his soul to the devil.

He knew it.

He didn’t care.

He nodded, hoping it would save Scott’s life “ _Anything_. _Please_ , just stop”

One second nothing happened. Stiles’ heart stopped beating, his blood stopped flowing. His muscles lost all their strength. His struggles stopped.

The Dollmaker let the doll fall on the desk. His eyes wandered Stiles’ desperate figure up and down, a hinge of a smile on his lips.

In a matter of second, he walked around his desk. Approaching Stiles like a shark circling around his pray.

He loomed over Stiles, not much taller than him. However, the aura of authority was enough to make Stiles swallow hard and make his muscles to freeze.

“You’re lucky your spark is so rare” The Dollmaker stated coldly “With the proper training you could do _much_ more than the party tricks you do now. You could be _far_ more useful”

Stiles didn’t say anything.

The Dollmaker smiled “You are going to do everything I say” he ordered “And I mean _everything_. I don’t like pushing the recruits too much, I like keeping them powerless, unable to lift a finger against my minions, not knowing half of the things they could do with their sparks”

A shiver ran down Stiles’ spine.

The Dollmaker’s eyes stared into his “But you are going to learn how to use yours to perfection. Test every single limit of it. And then, you are going to _use_ it”

The Dollmaker smiled “You are going to use it _only_ for me. You are going to do _everything_ I tell you. _Anything_.”

The knife appeared looming between them, pointing at Stiles’ nose “And if you as much as _hesitate_ to obey” the knife pointed at the motionless doll on the desk “I’ll make sure he and your other friend die in the most _excruciating_ way you could _ever_ imagine. You think _this_ was bad?”

He didn’t wait for an answer.

“It will be _nothing_ compared to what will happen if you disobey”

The Dollmaker stepped back, leaned on his desk.

“Are we clear?” he asked.

A small question. Three words.

The power to change his entire life.

Stiles was condemning himself.

He nodded.

-

It took Scott a couple of minutes to realize it had stopped. The burning gashes healed, only leaving thin white scars. Scott stared paralyzed at the closing cuts, disappearing the same way they had appeared. Out of nowhere.

When the last one in his arm closed and the burning died out, he let his head fall hard on the cushion Derek had placed there. His eyes shut, relief flooded his system. One second, he didn’t move, enjoying the “nothingness” in his body.

How his clothes were glued to his skin because of the warm blood didn’t matter. He could take care of that later. It wasn’t the first time he had bled.

With new clarity in his mind, the word that suddenly made sense, came to his mind.

He opened his eyes. Derek was crouching to his left, a worried frown on his face.

“It’s us” he said, still half disoriented “He’s using _us_ against him”

Derek nodded, his eyes quickly jumping to the white scar across Scott’s stomach.

“I know” he confirmed “And he uses his name to remind everyone of what he can do, to show them he has the power to”

Scott’s mouth was already opened to reply when Malia, looming over him behind the sofa’s rest, decided to jump in.

“What are you _talking_ about?” she asked somewhere between angry and worried “Who did this to you?”

Lydia, sitting next to Scott’s legs, didn’t part her eyes from Scott’s exposed stomach.

“The Dollmaker” she mumbled and looked up “Who is he?”

Scott exchanged a glance with Derek “Edmund Schwarz”

Malia shook her head “What?”

The same question bugged Scott in the back of his mind. What should he do? Should he or should he not tell them?

But they had seen it, they had seen what the Dollmaker could do and they had heard his name. Hiding everything would turn considerably more difficult if Scott wasn’t going to tell them. Honestly, the decision had been made the first moment pain had flashed in his body.

“He’s got a spark, a magical power, like Deaton” Scott told them what he had managed to puzzle together by himself. Why that word had seemed so familiar at first.

The looks he got were blank, lacking every bit understanding.

“He can do things with magic” Derek explained “We didn’t know exactly what until today but now, I think his name is pretty self-explanatory”

 His chin pointed towards Scott.

Understanding flashed in Lydia’s eyes “He can use voodoo?”

Scott frowned “We don’t know _exactly_ what he can do” he admitted “But using dolls to hurt and kill is definitely a thing”

Malia stared at them with an open jaw “Why on _earth_ would you look into that without telling us?”

Lydia’s eyes were glued to Scott’s stomach “You said he controlled _him_ like this” she remembered “Who is it? Are you trying to rescue someone?”

Derek’s muscles stiffened to Scott’s side. Both their hearts pounded rapidly.

Malia didn’t bother hiding she had noticed “ _Tell_ us, we can help. Even if we don’t know the person”

It took a deep breath to calm Scott. The barrier hindering him from speaking his name wouldn’t fall easily. The moment he did, this would become real. There would be no looking back.

He gazed at the ceiling. A part of him didn’t want to see how they would react.

Finally, he fought himself and looked down.

“It’s Stiles” he admitted “He’s using us to keep Stiles from coming home”

-

Cold drops landed on Stiles’ cheeks, his shoulders, his shirt, his pants. No matter that he was soaking wet, Stiles couldn’t find the strength in him to move. Sitting on a bench near to his trailer, Stiles didn’t have the strength to get inside, to put on a jacket.

His hands were still shaking. It might have been the cool water hitting him from above, but that wasn’t very likely. The images of the doll burned into his mind were enough to identify the source of the unwanted movement in his limbs.

Scott was safe.

Scott was safe.

Scott was safe.

Why did it feel like a lie?  

Why couldn’t he believe it?


	6. Flour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, dear people :D  
> I'm sorry it took me a bit long to update but, you see, there's this thing called exams and they didn't seem to come to an end this year. But now I've got time to write and hope everything will be updated more regularly. :)
> 
> On a different note; after writing this chapter, I realized this story is turning a bit darker than what I innitialy expected. Last chapter was pretty dark and this one, though not as intense, does handle a mature topic. It's nothing graphic but I prefer putting a warning beforehand. The rest of the story will have a similar dark tone.
> 
> I'll handle delicate topics with as much respect as I can. They are purely there to move the story forward and add depth to it. As I said, it's nothing graphic or descriptive, but some things (such as drugs and suicide) will be mentioned in this story. 
> 
> I just thought I better tell you beforehand.
> 
> It obviously doesn't mean there will only be melancholic and sad scenes in the story, there will also be some lighter and happy ones. I hope you get what I mean.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy reading the chapter. :D

Lydia’s heels clicked against the wooden floor as she paced back and forth for the thousandth time. Her hands fiddled with her face, rubbing her forehead and eyes, not a word leaving her lips.

“If I understood correctly,” she started talking “you found Stiles, but he didn’t want to come back. You started to look into what happened and found out about The Dollmaker, the owner of Timent Magicae and apparently a criminal. Now, we know that man can use voodoo to make people do what he says. That’s what’s keeping Stiles there. Because apparently,  he went to Sacramento to find out about his magic.”

Scott unconsciously rubbed his healed cheek “Yeah, in summary.”

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Malia looked up from her fingers. Her eyes stared at Scott, depleted from the energy and determination they usually carried.

“What are we going to do?”

“We are going to figure out everything we can about The Dollmaker.” Derek answered “We are going to find a way to get him out of there.”

Lydia stopped walking, crossing her arms.

“How are we going to do that if that man can kill us whenever he feels like it?” she asked.

Scott sighed “We will surprise him.”

“How was he?” Malia suddenly cut into the conversation.

Scott’s eyes drifted towards Derek, his eyebrows raised. The honesty inside him was demanding to  speak the truth, say Stiles wasn’t fine. He wasn’t happy. He was hurt.

Yet when his eyes jumped back to Malia’s, clinging to the last spark of hope, he couldn’t bring himself to speak the words out loud. For the first time since he had met her, he saw something he had never expected. There was vulnerability in her eyes.

Even though she hadn’t spent as much time with Stiles as she had with the rest of the pack, he had been the one to pull her up from her despair when she couldn’t handle being human. In Eichen House they’d helped each other, created a bond. Then, he had saved her life.

As far as their relationship went, Stiles was as meaningful to Malia as he was to the rest of the pack.

“He’s okay.” Scott swallowed hard “He’s got friends there. Other people that aren’t there willingly but they… support each other.”

Absently, Malia nodded. Her eyes returned to Lydia.

The strawberry blonde’s gaze on the other hand, landed on Scott and Derek. Steel was not only in her face, but in every cell of her tensed muscles.

“Be honest with us.” She asked, raised her chin “How close are we really to getting him back?”

Scott’s lips refused to move. As hard as he tried, not a single tone left him.

Lydia’s eyes dulled. His silence was enough of an answer.

“That’s what I thought.”

-

 

“You haven’t said anything for an entire day.”

Stiles looked up from his burger, not having touched it at all. Lukas’ figure slid on the bench opposite to his, letting his elbows rest on the wooden table.

“Don’t feel like it.” Stiles shrugged and looked back at his burger, taking a fry between his fingers and playing with it.

“Hey,” Lukas’ voice was firm “You know you can talk to us about it, right?”

A humourless laugh threatened to escape Stiles’ lips. Using extreme energy within him, Stiles managed to hold it back. The image flashed before his eyes, the words echoed between his ears.

_“You aren’t telling anyone about this, understand?”_

His wrists were still burning from the heat Marcus had used to enforce that message into his skull.

Stiles shook his head away from the memory and looked at Lukas.

“You know it’s as bad as they say?” he found himself saying “I knew it was bad, but…”

He sighed, not finding words to describe the shadow that would never leave him.

Lukas nodded “I know.” He said “But you’ve got us. Melissa is worried about you, Sheu-Fuh and Carlos literally just pushed me to this bench. Don’t isolate yourself. We are all in this together.”

Stiles nodded and sighed, stuffing the fry in his mouth.

“Sheu-Fuh and I wanted to try out the Dragon and Panther trick, you can come with and practise your act.” Lukas smiled, his hand fell on Stiles’ shoulder “Just don’t forget you’ve still got people looking out for you.”

“I’ll be right there.” Stiles said and forced out a smile.

Lukas nodded and got up, leaving Stiles alone with his burger again. It would’ve been a lie to say he felt better. But, somewhere inside his mind, something had warmed up. Lukas’ deep voice, his strong grip, his affirming words.

They reminded Stiles of a certain true alpha.

Finding the courage to eat the burger before him, Stiles got ready to join his friends. 

-

The Dollmaker’s fingers tapped one by one on his wooden desk. His golden rings reflecting the only source of illumination in the tent, a yellow lamp. His eyes ran over his various notes, comparing numbers and letters.

His stomach threatened to twist. It wasn’t enough. However, it had been years since he had allowed something as shallow as emotions take over him. In a blink of an eye, his mind was already running possible solutions to his problem.

“Aaron” he looked up at his minion sitting next to his tent’s entrance “Get five minions together, we are paying an old friend a visit.”

Aaron nodded, but frowned confused “Is there a problem?”

“An unexpected shortage.” The Dollmaker got on his feet and slid his hands into his black jacket, silk softly brushing his skin.

From the corner of his eye, The Dollmaker took in Aaron’s hesitating image. His mouth gaped open for a second, not understanding. The Dollmaker shook the dust of his jacket. He’d be surprised if someone managed to keep up.

Aaron wasn’t that someone. Within seconds, the boy realized what was better for him. Without asking for any explanation, he turned towards the tent’s exit.

“Tell Marcus to bring Stillinski.” The Dollmaker pulled a knife from one of his drawers “I’ll need his spark.”

-

If Scott ever had been asked to guess what utter incredulity looked like, he would have described the exact image before him. Deaton’s hollow and defeated face.

Inside the veterinarian’s clinic, Scott avoided the bright light burning into his eyes. The faint smell of alcohol lingered in the air, dazzling his mind more than if already was. Next to him, Derek and Lydia sat. The strawberry blonde’s foot tapping against the floor impatiently.

The veterinarian shook his head after a couple of seconds, leaning with one hand on the counter behind him.

After telling him about their discoveries regarding sparks and magic, Scott had finally decided to confront Deaton about it.  Ask him about magic, about the circus about the Dollmaker.

Surprisingly, Deaton’s eyes had immediately fallen during the tale, his muscles had lost their strength, his head had sunk. A dark shadow had clouded the entire clinic.

It took a few seconds, but Deaton finally looked up at Scott and answered.

“I knew about his spark.”

A needle could’ve been heard falling. Scott could only gape at the veterinarian. After two years without any leads and Deaton had… known about it?

There was only a single word in Scott’s mind.

“What?”

He wasn’t the only one shaken up by the revelation. Something shifted to his left.

“What do you _mean_ you knew about his spark?” Derek jumped on his feet “Didn’t you think it would be worth mentioning? _Two years ago_?”

Having come awfully close, Derek stared down at the veterinarian, his chest falling and raising rapidly.

Some strength returned to Deaton, his spine straightening.

“If you let me explain, I’ll tell you everything.” He said.

His calm eyes dug into Derek’s. The werewolf kept his gaze where it was, bluntly observing Deaton with fire in his eyes. Scott was on the edge of his seat, prepared to jump into action. Lydia carefully analysed the scene.

Finally, Derek sighed and stepped back.  Taking deep breaths, his heart managed to slow down.

“Tell us what happened.” Lydia leaned forward.

“He told me when Jackson was still the Kanima” Deaton looked at each one present, hoping they recalled the incident “His task was to circle the warehouse with mountain ash, but there wasn’t enough. He said he believed in it and the circle closed by itself.”

“He never told me about it.” Scott frowned.

Deaton shrugged “He thought it wasn’t important.” He continued “We talked about it, I… took a look at him and found his spark.”

Derek frowned. A dangerous glow returning to his eyes.

“Why did you hide it?” he asked.

“Because it wasn’t a woken spark.” Deaton said “It was a dormant one.”

“What’s the difference?” Lydia asked.

“A dormant spark is someone that has inactive magic within them.” Deaton answered “A woken spark is someone that can actually use their magic. As far as I knew, Stiles had some magical potential within him, but he had no way to access or use it.”

“Until his spark woke.” Scott remembered Laureen’s article. He looked up at Deaton “Dormant sparks can wake, can’t they?”

Deaton nodded “But it’s very rare. So much so that I assumed Stiles would never get to use his magic. There are only few things that can trigger a spark--”

“Like being possessed by a demon?” Derek interrupted.

Silence ruled over the room.

Deaton sighed. He nodded.

“Like being possessed by a demon.” He repeated “I assume that’s partly a reason why the Nogitsune chose Stiles.”

Lydia got on her feet, her heels clinging against the white floor.

“We were mourning Allison, he was feeling guilty.” Her gaze was glued on the floor “He probably discovered what he could do and thought…”

“…he thought he could make up for the Nogitsune with his magic.” Scott nodded, understanding perfectly what had happened “That’s why he was so excited when he told me he was going to Sacramento. He kept saying the pack would love his secret, that we’d profit from it.”

Deaton leaned against the counter “He was so excited, he let his guard down.”

“Giving The Dollmaker the perfect chance to force him into joining his circus.” Derek spat, looking out of the window.

“But what _can_ he do?” Lydia asked, stopping her pacing “What’s his spark?”

Deaton’s trunk leaned slightly forward, his gaze set on Scott. The werewolf looked for Derek’s help, but only received a shrug in return.

“We don’t know.” He admitted “The only thing he wrote in the chat was things changed.”

Lydia’s eyebrows jumped to the skies “Well, that’s _extremely_ precise.”

Scott shook his head. Even if some questions were being answered, there was still a lot they had yet to discover. So much information hidden in the dark, out of their grasp. Laughing at them from afar.

“What do you know about The Dollmaker?” his attention returned to Deaton.

“Not much. Only rumours.” He shrugged “Just that he has a powerful spark and an army.”

Derek’s eyebrows furrowed “Why would he need an army? He only owns a circus.”

Deaton shrugged, shaking his head.

Lydia’s eyes landed on Derek “There’s more.” She assured with ice in her eyes “He has been building an army for years, there’s no way this is just about the circus.”

“What do you mean?” Scott asked.

“I mean,” she answered “the circus is just a cover-up. That’s not all The Dollmaker wants, he is using the circus to get somewhere.”

“The question is where.”

-

Sheu-Fuh circled around Lukas, her tiny feet barely touching the ground as she spun around her own axis. Sweltering heat made a drop of sweat run down Stiles’ face when she came near him, flaming whips entangling her limbs.

Lukas smiled at Stiles before his eyes landed on Sheu-Fuh. His chocolate skin contrasted Sheu-Fuh’s pale one, just like the lashes of water around him contrasted her fire. Yet, they perfectly fit together.

The tongues of water circled around the limbs of fire, dancing with each other, chasing each other, longing for each other. Deep down, not only the elements felt that way.

“Try the dragon.” Carlos said, sitting to Stiles’ left.

Red and blue reflected from his enchanted eyes as they followed the dancers.

Sheuh-Fuh stopped spinning, her torso twisted in a circle. Holding her left hand, Lukas’ body swung back. With their other hands, they painted a circle above them, ending it with held hands.

Something cracked lightly above. Sparks turned into flames and flames into living fire. It shook, vibrated and shifted. Within seconds, a dragon rushed over Stiles, a current of hot air hitting his skin after it had passed.

Completely opposite to Stiles, a deep roar came swinging his way. Drops fell from the mass of water shifting over the empty seats.

It soared above him. A living, breathing panther of water.

Panther and dragon circled around each other, playing with each other, coming dangerously near before jumping apart. The dragon flew faster, the panther jumped higher. Their movements desperate, violent, playful.

A thin voice cried out below, the Dragon dissolved.

“Sheu-Fuh!” Lukas spun around within seconds.

A shadow loamed over Stiles and Carlos.

Stiles’ eyes wondered up “Lukas…?”

He didn’t get to end his sentence. Within seconds, the wave splashed on their heads. Soaking every bit of skin and clothes. Stiles’ eyes immediately shut when the cold wall hit his back.

“Por el amor de Díos!” Carlos shouted next to Stiles, getting on his feet “Lukas!”

Stiles let his arms fall from above his head, heavy drops falling from his hair, tracing their way down his spine.

“Sorry!” Sheu-Fuh’s hand was closed around her ankle “I tripped, I didn’t mean to…”

“It wasn’t your fault.” Lukas assured, pulling her up from the sand “You didn’t…”

Carlos pointed at him “ _You_ are going to clean my trailer for this!”

Stiles frowned at Sheu-Fuh “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Because _he_ ” Carlos pointed dramatically at Lukas “is going to pay for splashing his funny animals at me. For the _fifth_ time!”

Something strange blossomed inside Stiles, heating up his chest. It tingled up his nerves, lighting up the darkness inside him. The heavy shadow over him didn’t disappear, but for a second, there was a glimpse of light. Before he knew it, Stiles found himself smiling lightly.

A second didn’t pass until Sheu-Fuh started laughing, leaning back on the sand.

“ _You_ ” Carlos pointed at Sheu-Fuh “are as guilty as he is! You are going to _help_ him.”

Lukas quickly glanced at Stiles. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Stiles could’ve sworn there was a lack of tension in his muscles, not a single wrinkle in his face but a proud smile. However, before Stiles could process the expression’s meaning, Lukas returned his attention to Carlos, negotiating his declared penalty.

-

He had barely stepped out of the tent, barely said goodnight to his friends when Marcus’ arm swung over his shoulders. Within the same second, every cell of his body urged him to move away, the long strands of hair tinglig his bare arms.

His resistance was met with a hand as firm as stone.

“Stilllinski,” Marcus’ firm grip started leading him in the entire opposite he was heading “time to start making up for your promise.”

A mountain’s weight fell on Stiles’ shoulders.

“What do you mean?” he asked, trying to bring as much space between them as possible.

“The boss has a—” Marcus finally stepped aside. However, his hand still pushing Stiles’ back in the direction he wanted.

Tiny steps echoed from behind them. Spinning around at the same time, they spotted the shadow running towards them.

“Stiles, why aren’t you--?” Melissa’s voice halted as suddenly as her steps did.

Her arms dangling loosely be her side, she observed the image before her. The cold wind brushed her hair back, nothing else moving. Her eyes didn’t need to land on Marcus before they widened, concern clouding them.

“He’s coming with me.”

Marcus’ eyes turned into slits “But you already know that, don’t you?”

Melissa’s eyes jumped back and forth between the two presents before her.

“Let me set things straight.” Marcus said and turned around. Stiles’ stomach twisted inside his body, an urge to push Marcus away from her accompanying every thought.

“You aren’t telling _anyone_ about what you saw in his mind.” His chin pointed at Stiles “Neither are you telling anyone where he is going. As far as you are concerned, _nothing_ is happening.”

Stiles had to fight his entire body to not jump over Marcus. Melissa was his friend. It was always the same. Every time the minions came near any of his friends, be it Melissa, Lukas or anyone, heat rushed up his cheeks.

“Are we clear?” Marcus asked.

Melissa tilted her chin, remained silent.

“I said,” Marcus repeated “are we clear?”

Melissa stepped backwards within a blink of an eye, hissing in pain, her eyes immediately jumping to the metal bracelets around her wrists.

“Yes.” Melissa spat out.

Relief immediately flooded her soft expression. Marcus smiled pleased.

“I’m glad.” He told her. His eyes returned to Stiles “You need something dry, there’s no way you are coming with like this.”

It wasn’t a secret in need of hiding, Marcus knew how much Stiles hated him that moment. However, he was a powerless to do anything as Melissa was to stop him from doing what The Dollmaker wanted. Marcus knew that.

Smiling with satisfaction, Marcus continued walking. His hand closed in a firm grip around Stiles’ arm, tearing him forward.

 _“It won’t be your fault.”_ her soft voice said inside his head.

When Stiles looked over his shoulder, Melissa had longed turned around, heading for her trailer.

-

She hadn’t stopped eyeing him throughout the entire ride, the woman to his left. How long that had been was hard to tell. The sun had long disappeared behind the horizon, nothing but heavy dark clouds crawling past the window.

The tree’s shadows fell on the two figures on the driver’s and co-pilot’s seat, painting their features with darkness. Marcus was sitting right before Stiles, his legs swung over the cockpit. Behind the wheel, Alicia didn’t let the black limousine before them out of her sight. Its lights were drowned by dense fog, making it a much more difficult task.

It was his limousine.

The Dollmaker’s.

A shiver ran down Stiles’ spine at the simple thought of the name. Every hair on his skin standing tall, as if ready to fend off an imminent attack.

Stiles tried to ignore only a name could make his blood run cold. He tried to block out the minions around him. He tried to forget what he was here for.

-

A wall of exploding sounds hit Stiles the moment he passed the black door, entering the sweltering warehouse. The floor beneath his feet vibrated at the music’s rhythm, just like the many sweating figures before him.

“This way.”

Marcus’ hand was again closed firmly around his arm, guiding him through the faceless mass of bodies, melting into each other under the flashing colours. The only illumination keeping them from becoming a mindless dark wave.

Before them, Aaron cleared The Dollmaker’s way, pushing and growling at every person in his path. Most barely noticed, an offended frown only flashing on their faces before the drinks in their hands regained their utter attention.

Following the minions and Marcus, Stiles tried to recognize his surroundings, find out where he was, what this place was. However, the wall of drunk people, their screams and the music pounding off the speakers flooded his senses.

It was impossible to concentrate. The ever-changing light’s colour was enough to disorient him.

Suddenly, sticky skin impacted against Stiles, making him stumble sideways. If Marcus’ grip hadn’t tightened, Stiles would’ve fallen hard on his side. Barely having recovered, Stiles glanced up at the silhouette before him.

A middle-aged woman smiled at him, glitter and sweat melting into each other on her face and bare arms. Her long blonde hair dangled into her transparent beverage, bu that was the least of her worries.

“Sorry, handsome.” She said, not stepping back “Didn’t see you there.”

The burning stench of alcohol hit Stiles the moment she opened her mouth.

About to smile apologetically and continue walking, Stiles’ actions were brought to a halt when a soft giggle escaped her lips, turning in delusional laughter within seconds.

Frowning, Stiles couldn’t help but notice her swollen red eyes, the dizziness in her muscles, the trembling of her grip around the white cup.

All of that in just a second.

“Care to join me?” she asked.

Before Stiles could reply and give in to the pounding urge within to walk away, a red drop traced its way between her nose and lips.

“You’re blee—” Stiles started.

However, before he ended his sentence, Marcus decided it was enough. Without saying a word, he continued walking, fastening his pace to keep up with the other minions, tearing Stiles with him.

The whole exchange had only lasted a few seconds, but it opened Stiles’ eyes. This was far more than just a club.

“What’s this place?” Stiles asked, still glancing over his shoulder at the woman.

Marcus snorted “Never come out of your castle, Stillinski?”

“It’s a— club.” The red-headed woman that had been observing Stiles stepped in. Only then did Stiles notice she had been walking behind them.

“ _Explosion_.” Marcus continued “The most exclusive club in California, even the States.”

They’d almost passed through the sweltering mass, the woman having long lost disappeared behind them.

“This is where _real_ business is done.” The woman explained “The one where you _actually_ profit.”

The multitude of people cleared enough before them for Stiles to see a closed door, two very well-trained men standing before it. Glasses hid their eyes, as secretly as the heavy jackets protected their body.

Aaron’s lips moved, but Stiles didn’t understand anything. The heavy bass and technological music drowned every sound near him.

It was only a second until the door was opened. Without another word, The Dollmaker was the first one to step in, his minions following.

-

“I thought I’d made myself clear.” The suited man smiled sourly from behind his desk “You aren’t welcomed here after your faux pas.”

The Dollmaker leaned forward on his seat, not a hinge of fear or regret in his face.

“You don’t know what I am offering.” He eyed the tall man “Would be wise of you to not decide too soon when it comes to people like me.”

Sitting on a leather chair, the man threw his head back and laughed.

It would’ve been a lie to say Stiles understood anything of what was happening. Standing before the closed office’s door, with Marcus, Alicia and the red-headed woman by his side, he only observed the two criminals play with each other like cat and mouse.

He only didn’t know which was which.

“You mean your little dolls?” the man eyed his tattooed hand thoughtfully “You know I can kill anyone I want just as easily, without needing little sparks coming out of my fingers.”

The Dollmaker smiled, the faint lighting casting deep shadows over his face.

“I’m not talking about the dolls.”

The man’s thick brows raised for a second, doubt sparkling his eyes for a second.

“Whatever,” he shook his head “you got involved with the wrong people. No politics was our deal and you broke it. So, I’m going to ask you only once. Leave _Explosion_ before things get ugly.”

He raised to his feet, his hand wandering to his waist, landing on a metallic hilt peeking out of his belt.

Laughing, The Dollmaker leaned back on his seat, resting his hands on the rests.

“Tell me, how is business going?” The Dollmaker looked up at the ceiling “I suppose bad, isn’t it? The earthquake destroying your plantations, the new regulations…”

He sighed heavily.

“Your demand is over the clouds, but can you keep up with it?”

The man’s eyes darkened, his fists clenched.

Stiles wanted to look at the minions, see what their reaction was. See if they understood anything. If they were as relaxed and careless as The Dollmaker was. However, he didn’t dare to move, he didn’t dare to look away from the scene.

“What’s your point?” the man asked.

The Dollmaker got on his feet “I can give it to you.”

“How?” the man asked.

“For the right price of course.”

The man shook his head “No, I mean _how_?”

“With sparks coming out of my fingers.” The Dollmaker answered “You just need to be willing to pay the right price.”

The man’s eyes assessed the Dollmaker, inspecting every centimetre of his body, looking for the catch. However, it wasn’t long until his shoulders dropped and he nodded. Letting himself fall back on his chair, he folded his hands over his lap.

“How much do you want?”

-

The Dollmaker smiled, his hand closing around the white papers with tremendous amounts of zeros on them. Pleased, he stuffed them on the inside of his jacket, making a tremendous amount of money his Stiles’ dad would’ve never earned. In a lifetime.

“Now, it’s your turn.” The man got on his feet “Tell me, _how_ are you going to do it?”

The Dollmaker smiled “ _I’m_ not doing anything.”

The man’s hand immediately jumped to his belt, a blazing silver gun on his hands. It was like someone had pressed play on a movie. In unison, all minions stepped forward, raising their hands, ready to kill off the man.

The man’s hands stayed firmly closed around the gun, but his eyes wondered hesitantly over the magical people around him. It was obvious who would win if it came to it.

“I could kill you, Pierre. _This_ easily.” The Dollmaker shook his head and got on his feet “But I might profit from this friendship in the future.”

He nodded. The minions stepped back.

“ _I’m_ not doing anything.” The Dollmaker repeated and turned around, his eyes landed on Stiles “ _He_ is.”

 The world stopped spinning.

The corner of Stiles’ vision clouded, only permitting him to stare at The Dollmaker, paralyzed.

“There’s just one thing we need.” The Dollmaker ignored Stiles’ shock and turned to look back at Pierre “Flour.”

“Flour?” Pierre asked.

“Flour.” The Dollmaker nodded “The same amount of product you want to have. He’ll take care of the rest.”

Stiles’ stomach spun around 180 degrees when he realized what The Dollmaker wanted.

-

Outside the office, in a completely different room, Pierre had arranged sack after sack of flour, piled up in heaps in front Stiles and the minions. Stiles swallowed hard, his mind still not wrapping entirely around what he was supposed to do, how he was supposed to do it.

When the last sack landed on the floor, Pierre crossed his arms.

“Anytime.”

It didn’t escape Stiles he was accompanied by the two bodyguards, both their hands on their gun’s hilts. Pierre had learned from the last thirty minutes. He wasn’t staying alone with The Dollmaker and his minions.

“You know what to do, Stillinski.” Marcus’ hand fell on Stiles’ shoulder.

Stiles’ heart throbbed in his chest, he stared at the brown sacks before him, he tried to convince himself this was dream.

Of all the time he’d been in the circus, he’d never had to do something like this. The Dollmaker had asked him to do stuff, to intimidate politicians, to put on a show for the circus, sure. But never had he asked him to do anything as wrong as this, as disgusting and immoral.

This was what the minions did.

The hard stuff, the illegal stuff, the dark stuff.

What would his Dad think?

What would Scott think?

What would Derek think?

Feet shifted to Stiles’ right.

“Is there a problem?” The Dollmaker asked.

But it wasn’t a question. It was a reminder, a threat, a menace. His dark eyes dug into Stiles’, looking into his soul.

The words echoed inside Stiles’ mind.

_“Anything?”_

The doll dangled behind Stiles’ lids.

_“Anything.”_

Scott’s name carelessly written on it.

_“You are going to do **everything** I say.”_

The papers with his friends’ names.

_“If you as much as hesitate to obey…”_

The knife in The Dollmaker’s hand.

_“I’ll make sure he and your other friend die in the most **excruciating** way you could imagine.”_

Stiles swallowed hard.

He didn’t have a choice.

For the millionth time, he hated himself for changing that stupid gun.

“I just…” he shook his head “I’ll need some time. I’ve never changed such a big amount.”

_“You are going to learn how to use yours to perfection…”_

_“You are only going to use it for me…”_

The Dollmaker smirked pleased, knowing he had won.

“Take as long as you need.”

Pierre’s gaze jumped from The Dollmaker to Stiles, his brows furrowed.

“I want guarantee this isn’t a trick.” He said.

The Dollmaker pointed with his chin at the sack closest to Stiles.

Stiles took in a deep breath.

He tried not to think about what he was going to do. What it implied.

When his spark had woken, Stiles’ hadn’t controlled it, nor had he felt any different for that matter. Things had just started to change around him. Laureen had been the one supposed to help him figure it out.

However, the circus had been the place he had gained control over his spark, not the bookshop.

Now, Stiles could perfectly steer his spark, tell it where to go and what to do.

It was like moving any part of his body. He didn’t need to think about _how_ to it. He only needed to think _about_ doing it. Sometimes it was harder, sometimes it was easier. Just like it was moving one’s leg when running in sand or swimming.

Within seconds, he had thought of it and it had happened.

He looked up at The Dollmaker and nodded.

“Be my guest.” The Dollmaker pointed at the sack at Stiles’ feet “Open the sack and look at what’s inside.”

Pierre half-smiled unsurely, crossing his arms.

“You can’t possibly think…” he looked at Stiles, at the sack _“C’est impossible…”_

The Dollmaker didn’t move a muscle.

“Go,” Pierre looked at one of his bodyguards and pointed at the sack “what are you waiting for? Look!”

A net of electricity vibrated in the air as the man approached, ready to electrocute anyone that dared to move. The bold man kneeled before the brown heap and pulled a rusty knife from his belt. He cut the sack open, white powder peeking from the inside.

With nerve-shaking calmness he dropped his knife to his side and grabbed a handful of the substance. His thumb played with the powder, moving it back and forth. Finally, he opened his palm, the powder falling back inside the opened sack.

The bodyguard got back on his feet, dusting off his hands against each other.

“Not flour anymore.” He looked at Pierre “Don’t know how but it worked.”

The most delighted of fires sparked within Pierre’s eyes, a twisted smile drawing its way through his mouth. With his gaze on the sack, he laughed, shaking his head. For a second his eyes fell on Stiles, respect, astonishment and hunger on them.

Stiles tried his best not to throw up.

“ _Magnifique_ ” he clapped his hands together “Let’s get on with it.”

-

It was two hours later when Stiles came to an end. He’d never pushed himself this far, never forced his spark to change as many things, to do something this big.

With trembling knees, he supported his palms on his thighs, taking deep breaths to calm himself down. Besides that, he didn’t want to see what he had done, tried to block it out, wanted to forget.

“Mon ami!” Pierre smiled at the Dollmaker, shook his hand “A pleasure doing business with you. You are welcomed to come back anytime you want.”

His eyes fell on Stiles “And don’t forget to bring him, he’s more than welcome.”

What the Dollmaker replied Stiles didn’t get. His hands clenched into fists hating Pierre, hating The Dollmaker, hating Marcus. Hating himself for being so pathetic and week.

“Are you okay?” a hand fell on his shoulder.

It was the red-headed woman again, the one that had been observing him throughout the entire night. Stiles frowned when he saw the shadow of concern in the wrinkles around her eyes.

He’d never thought a minion was able to feel concern.

Stiles’ heart was throbbing in his chest. It was too much for him. Confusion and anger and helplessness and frustration.

“I need--” his throat was closing, his sight blurring “—go to the bathroom.”

The red-headed woman nodded. For a second, she disappeared from Stiles’ line of sigh but returned. Helping to support him with a grip around his arm, they walked out of the shed.

-

Stiles’ hand was still shivering when he managed to close it around the faucet. He splashed water on his face yet wasn’t able to wake up from this nightmare.  His heart was still pounding, his breathing staggered.

The moment his eyes landed on the bracelets around his wrists, something stirred within him. He remembered a time when he’d been in a similar position. Having a panic attack alone in the bathroom, holding on to the sink as if it were the only thing keeping him from falling into an abyss.

Scott had walked in.

Scott had walked in and convinced him it wasn’t a dream.

Scott had counted to ten with him.

He looked at his hands, remembered his voice.

_“Look at my hands and count with me.”_

_“Ten.”_

A blanket of warmth fell over his shoulders. His breaths got deeper, his heart slower.

When his hand closed around the faucet again, he barely noticed the shaking.

Stiles took in a deep breath and looked at the mirror, at himself, imagined Scott’s black mane and brown eyes standing behind him, taking care of him.

It came again.

That urge that had first gotten him into this mess.

Without thinking about it, Stiles’ hands closed around one of the rolled towels on the counter. Pushing his spark one more time, he changed it. Never had it been so hard to change something as small, but Stiles needed to do it. Right now, everything depended on it.

His heart started to pound in his ears again.

But not out of fear.

Not out of panic.

It wasn’t holding Stiles back.

It was encouraging him to continue.

With a blank sheet of paper in his hands, Stiles looked around Pierre’s private bathroom. He only needed one more thing. Opening drawers, Stiles’ gazed brushed every centimetre of their inside.

Just when he feared he’d have to push his spark again, he opened the last one and found what he was looking for. Between scissors, lighters and spare toilet papers was a pen.

Pulling it out, Stiles started writing.

**Pierre is selling tremendous amounts of drugs. He gets them illegally from The Dollmaker, Edmund Schwarz. Both work together as criminals. Pierre gets the money, The Dollmaker the drugs.**

**The Dollmaker owns the circus Timent Magicae. He kidnaps teenagers, mostly runaways, though not all, and forces them to work for him. He threatens to kill their family if they don’t do what he says. He has killed many people. He doesn’t bother hiding it. He’s got adults as well as some teenagers helping him, his minions.**

**These are some names of disappeared teenagers.**

**Melissa Smith**

**Lukas Faraji**

**Sheu-Fuh Yang**

**Carlos Hernesto Gónzales**

**They and many more work for the Dollmaker.**

**Don’t be foolish and try to act before thinking. Pierre can be fooled, The Dollmaker can’t. Whatever you do with this information, be careful, The Dollmaker has contacts everywhere.**

**Please, find a way to help us.**

It was ridiculous, it was desperate, it was hopeless.

But Stiles needed to do _something_.

He couldn’t go back to the circus after doing what he had done without trying it.

Without trying to do the right thing.

His hands were shaking again, but like his heart, not out of fear. Like the moment he had changed the gun, something golden and pure soared through his veins. Something familiar and reassuring.

Doing the right thing.

Fighting back.

Stiles took in a deep breath and stepped back, eyeing the small bathroom with uttermost of caution. If this was going to work, it had to be thought out, planned, calculated.

There wasn’t an idea in Stiles’ mind _how_ this could work out, why this simple message should change anything. It was only a desperate attempt to leave something behind. To not go down just like that.

His eyes inspected the drawers. They wouldn’t work. The sink was also out of question, the counter, the toilet. None of that worked.

 Everything halted when his gaze fell on his reflection.

The mirror.

It was decided within the same second. Stiles climbed on the counter and stuffed the folded paper behind the mirror. It was thicker than the distance between the glass and wall but Stiles wasn’t taking any risks. He positioned it exactly over the screw attaching the construction to the wall.

It wouldn’t fall that way.

Who he hoped would find it was out of his wit.

Stiles stepped back, pressed his palms against the mirror, shook it.

Nothing fell.

Taking in a deep breath, Stiles looked at his reflection for one last time, imagined Scott standing behind him.

The small voice told him it would be okay.

He opened the door, walked out of the bathroom. Nancy was waiting for him. The red-headed woman that had introduced herself on their way to the bathroom.

For a moment Stiles feared she would walk into the bathroom, look at everything, make sure he hadn’t done anything he shouldn’t.

She turned around and walked towards the exit.

Stiles supressed a relieved sigh.

-

There was no way either Scott nor Stiles could’ve known that _Explosion_ , the club Stiles had just provided with a considerable amount of drugs, was only a few kilometres away from Beacon Hills.

Not even the moon peeked from behind the clouds when Stiles drove back to the circus, not paying any attention to the signs rushing past him. His thoughts were somewhere else entirely. His legs shivering, hoping Alicia wouldn’t come anywhere near him. If she did, everything would be ruined.

Meanwhile, Scott laid on his bed, but didn’t waste a thought on sleeping. If there was one thing he knew, it was that he was going to figure out what had happened to Stiles, what secrets Timent Magicae hid, what The Dollmaker wanted.

And he would get Stiles out of there even if it was the last thing he did.

Neither of them knew this day had brought them one step closer to seeing each other again.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you very much for reading!
> 
> I hope you liked the chapter! Please, if you have any thoughts you'd like to share, feel free to do so! I appreaciate hearing your opinion a lot. :D
> 
> Sorry for any grammar/spelling mistakes.  
> Melpomene :D


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